


Awakening of the Grey

by Lightning4119



Series: Grey Wardens [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Novelization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-29 21:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 182,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14481981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning4119/pseuds/Lightning4119
Summary: The Blight may be over, but the work continues. A semi-novelization of Dragon Age Origins: Awakening and the other DLC packs.





	1. Blight's Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Wrapping up what is technically the end of Origins, before we get on with the Awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos. This fic is entirely written already, and will be posted over the next few days.

_Shriek  
Scholars call these tall, lean darkspawn the sharlock, though they are more popularly known as shrieks because of the ear-splitting cries they emit in battle. Many tales exist of soldiers being unnerved by the sounds of approaching shrieks, cloaked in darkness and never seen until the moment they strike._

_As horrors of the night, shrieks are renowned for their incredible speed and agility as well as their stealth. They are the assassins of the darkspawn, penetrating the enemy lines and striking their targets using long, jagged blades attached to their forearms to rip their opponent to shreds in seconds. They have been known to employ poison, often drawn from their own blood, and have demonstrated cunning group tactics when attacking in numbers._

—AOTG—

The shriek’s claws cleaved through Daylen’s staff like it was made of straw. It screeched in his face, before lunging at him, claws outstretched and streaming tainted blood.

The Warden punched it in the face, the silverite bars across the knuckles of his gauntlets shattering the shriek’s jaw and knocking it flat on its back. Spinning the back half of his broken staff in his hand, he stabbed the broken end into the shriek’s throat, twisting and ripping the tainted flesh apart. The darkspawn fell still, and Daylen discarded the broken weapon, shaking out his hands and feeling his magic surging.

Things weren’t going well. For the darkspawn, that is.

Well, it wasn’t a picnic for the Alliance forces, either. After the Archdemon’s death on the top of Fort Drakon, it had taken a day and a half of almost non-stop fighting to clear the darkspawn from Denerim. After that, the dwarves of Orzammar had returned underground, planning to cut the horde off as it retreated to the Deep Roads. Most of the mages had been recalled to the Circle of the Magi’s tower in Kinloch Hold, where the Templars resumed their watch. Many of the Dalish elves had returned to the Brecelian Forest as well, citing the need to rebuild their numbers after the losses they took during the Blight and from a lycanthropic curse Daylen had ended in order to secure their assistance. Some had remained, warily keeping their camp separate from the knights sworn to Arl Eamon Guerrin, who had been one of the Wardens’ closest allies in the Blight. Their scouting abilities were proving invaluable in the Thaw, the post-Blight cleanup.

Two hundred Orlesian Wardens had arrived just in time to cut off the darkspawn’s westward advance, preventing the horde from wreaking havoc on the surface and driving them back into the Deep Roads. The lion’s share of the foreign Wardens had returned to Orlais after the Archdemon’s death, citing political tensions, leaving fifty Orlesian Wardens and the Fereldan army to finish the mop-up. The Wardens were divvied up between companies of Alliance troops and sent south and west to root out the darkspawn wherever they went. It had taken six weeks, but most of the country had been pronounced free of darkspawn.

Currently, Daylen was assisting – not leading, he had made that very clear – a company of knights just south of Dragon’s Reach. Their commander was fifty yards away, marshalling his heavy infantry back into a formation. In between them lay a field of dead or dying knights and slaughtered darkspawn. When the others had fallen back to regroup, Daylen had held his position, fighting in close quarters and even hand-to-hand with darkspawn to buy them time. It was working, although more of the darkspawn were showing up, drawn to the Taint in Daylen’s blood.

That was fine. That meant there were that many fewer darkspawn to cause havoc across Ferelden. The nation had suffered enough. Daylen glanced at the knights as they shuffled back into a defensive line. The men looked battered, winded, and demoralized. They needed a display to put some steel in their spines again.

 _That_ , Daylen could do.

A lightning bolt dropped a genlock archer, the creature’s skin igniting as the spell made contact. Daylen made a rude gesture at the Hurlock emissary that was leading the group of approaching darkspawn, and the darkspawn began charging up a spell of its own. Recognizing the spell, Daylen called upon magic he had learned from a Dalish text, and the emissary’s spell detonated amongst the darkspawn, lightning arcing between the twisted creatures and wreaking havoc as the emissary’s mana was ripped from its body. The darkspawn mage dropped like a puppet with cut strings, and Daylen spotted an ogre shoving its way through the pack, pointing at Daylen and roaring a challenge. Daylen bellowed back, his throat aching from shouting over the sounds of battle. He tossed a blob of conjured grease over his shoulder, the trampled grass and weeds behind him slicking down with the blood and grease soaking the soil. Frost crackled around his hands as Daylen began weaving more magic, mana coiling around his body as he began calling down a blizzard.

The ogre charged, and Daylen grimaced as he felt the spell nearly slip away from him as he rolled out of the way of the ogre’s charge, coming to his feet as the ogre hit the grease patch he had laid down. The beast slipped and fell, and the mage finished the spell, catching the rest of charging darkspawn in a blizzard. Ignoring the spell’s draw on his mana, he began weaving another heavy spell, lightning arcing around his hands as the darkspawn caught in the blizzard struggled to their feet against the wicked cold and wind. Flesh was stripping away under the assault, but Daylen wasn’t finished. A lightning storm landed squarely on top of them a moment later, and the volatile magics combined and magnified each other, the storm exploding into a maelstrom of hurricane-force winds, ice shards, and arcing lightning.

With the pack handled, Daylen turned his attention back to the ogre, which had managed to get to its feet, and Daylen downed a weak lyrium potion, feeling an icy rush of fresh mana surging through him.

Daylen’s steely gaze remained locked on the charging ogre, even as the hurlocks behind him were ripped apart by the ice storm he had conjured. “Stay,” he ordered, snapping his fingers. A burst of ice froze the ogre’s feet together, and the beast stumbled, slipping on the slick ground and nearly falling again. He snapped his fingers again. “Sit.” A lump of conjured stone shattered the ogre’s jaw and knocked it backwards, teeth and tainted blood splattering across the ground. “Now _play dead_.” One more snap of his fingers, and the oil ignited, the ogre bellowing in pain as it was burned alive. Turning back, Daylen spotted a few badly injured darkspawn staggering through the maelstrom, a motley group of hurlocks and a few genlocks that had been lucky enough to survive the ice and lightning. A serious threat for inexperienced warriors, but Daylen had killed several times their number in the Deep Roads during the Blight.

Eyeballing the distances, Daylen lobbed a fireball into their midst, sending screaming and burning darkspawn flying. Charging up a massive burst of lightning, Daylen targeted the nearest darkspawn, chaining the lightning from one Tainted creature to another until the last one fell.

The Warden half-leaned, half-collapsed against the ogre’s smoldering corpse, clambering atop it to catch his breath as the soldiers approached again. He kept a careful watch as the knights marched forward, calmly hitting a darkspawn that looked suspiciously not dead with a lightning bolt.

One of the sergeants surveyed the carnage. “Maker’s breath, you fight like a blasted army!”

Daylen looked down from his perch atop the dead ogre. “There’s a reason I’m a Grey Warden, mate. Report!”

“Sir! No further darkspawn sightings in this area. You, uh…you seem to have killed them all.”

“That’s what I get paid for,” Daylen said. “Recover our dead, camp upwind of this mess. I’ll burn the darkspawn corpses. You should set fortifications and get some rations together, your men have worked hard today. We’ll camp here for the night, and tomorrow we’ll head west. Send your freshest scouts with some hounds to check out the area.”

“Yes, sir!”

Daylen lingered long enough after the knights left to double-check the bodies for loot – darkspawn seemed to enjoy picking up shiny objects, which frequently included coin that could be spent if a few minutes were taken to clean it properly. Igniting the bodies with some grease and a flame, he ensured they and the blood-soaked grass beneath them were burnt to ash.

The darkspawn had left a messy trail on the West Road, and Daylen intended to follow it back to their exit from the Deep Roads. The defiled bodies – human and animal – that they used as totems and markers were torn down and destroyed. The blood and offal that they left in their wake was burnt away to prevent the spread of Blight sickness. And any darkspawn dumb enough to still be around when the Alliance troops got there were ripped apart.

It hadn’t been easy. Besides the casualties Daylen’s group was taking, entire companies of troops had been wiped out both during the Battle of Denerim and by larger warbands encountered during the ongoing Thaw. But with the arrival of the Orlesian Wardens, the tide had turned, and Ferelden was slowly coming back from the brink.

The Warden rejoined the knights, who were busily setting up fortifications around a new camp. Daylen contributed a handful of warning and trap glyphs, before healing any knights who had been wounded during the fighting. Afterwards, he found himself sitting by the fire, several knights nearby but essentially alone.

The camp was still being broken down the next morning when a messenger on horseback arrived. “Ser, I bring news for you from Denerim,” he said formally as he approached Daylen and came to attention. “The Warden-Commanders of other nations have arrived in Denerim, and you are ordered to return to the city for a meeting with them at Fort Drakon.”

Daylen’s face darkened. “So now that the Blight’s over, they show up, and I’m _ordered_ to come back? Figures.”

“Something wrong, Warden?” the company’s captain asked.

“No, it’s fine,” Daylen replied. “Captain Markham, there’s supposed to be another company about ten miles south of us, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Can you take your men and link up with them? Apparently I’ve just acquired a previous engagement.”

“Can do, Warden,” the captain said easily. “It’ll be sad to see you go, but thank you for all you’ve done.”

Daylen paused. “You’re welcome,” he replied after a moment. “Just doing what I can to help.”

“I know,” Markham shrugged. “And a lot of my men would be dead if not for your help. So again, thank you.”

—AOTG—

It took the better part of the day to return to Denerim, the Warden and the messenger cresting the hill that overlooked the city as the sun was setting. The Warden paused as he looked down on the city, remembering the last time he had come up this road. At that time, he had had an army and several companions at his back, and the city was in flames, swarming with darkspawn. Now he was alone, his companions broken up to reinforce the various combat groups with veteran darkspawn fighters, and the city was once again at peace.

As the twosome entered the city, repairs were still underway, the bridges that crossed the river that bisected the city still under construction. They had been destroyed during the battle, some by the defenders to hold back the darkspawn advance, some by the Archdemon during its rampage through the city. With no other way across, the Warden was left to loop around most of the city, where he was waylaid frequently by civilians who recognized him. Some bore gifts, others wanted the man to heal them or their loved ones. A few wanted to join the Wardens.

By the time Daylen got to Fort Drakon, the sun was almost gone, and he was ushered into a side room that also served as the fortress’s Chantry. Several people were inside, a mix of humans, elves, and dwarves, all wearing the Grey Warden colors on their armor. Daylen shifted uncomfortably, his Circle-issued robes wrinkled and stained with blood and dust from the road. His dragonscale mail was still in good condition under his robes, but as the others turned to recognize him, the Warden tried to pull himself into a presentable shape.

“Welcome,” Daylen said. “I’m Daylen Amell. With the death or departure from the order of just about every other Warden in Ferelden, I suppose I’m effectively Warden-Commander by default, but I’m not going to assume any titles.”

The giant man in the front nodded. “I am Dernheim, Warden-Commander of the Anderfels.”

“Warden-Commander Clarel de Chanson,” a bald woman with a mage’s staff across her back said next.

Daylen bowed slightly at the waist. “I’ve read your work on the generation of tempests. Inspired technique.”

“Jaryk,” the dwarf grunted. “Nevarran Warden-Commander. Got a bone to pick with you, Amell, you ain’t left any darkspawn for us.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Daylen said, holding his hands up in mock apology. “We just aren’t good hosts anymore. I mean, the things people expect. You slaughter a few thousand darkspawn, kill their leader, and all of a sudden they want to leave!”

The foreign Wardens grinned at that, and Daylen felt some of the inspection-level tension dissipate. “Lucian,” the elf introduced himself, extending a hand and adjusting his quiver as Daylen shook hands with him. “Antiva.”

“Davis,” the human with the daggers said. His voice sounded like a gravel beach had learned to speak. “Free Marches, out of Cumberland. I understand you’re a Marcher by birth.”

“Kirkwall, yes,” Daylen said. “Transferred from the Gallows to Kinloch Hold after my sister turned out to be a mage as well.”

“Lucky for Ferelden,” Davis said, extending a hand. Daylen shook it, and looked to the dark-skinned woman.

“And you must be the Rivaini Warden-Commander,” Daylen deduced.

“Merin,” she replied, holding out a hand, palm down. Daylen took it, bending and brushing his lips across her knuckles lightly.

“A pleasure,” he said. “Now, I imagine you all must be hungry, and I would love to share a brandy with my brothers and sisters in the order, but there is business to attend to.”

“We have all read your report of Ferelden’s methods of dealing with the Blight,” Clarel said delicately. “Your performance under the conditions was…admirable.”

“More like sodding miraculous,” Jaryk snorted, shifting his warhammer. “Two Wardens with piss-all in resources or support stopped a Blight inside a year.”

“Speaking of which,” Daylen said, nervously smoothing his beard. “I’ve reviewed Warden protocols and regulations on this, but…some of our procedures need work. Duncan’s insistence on absolute secrecy exacerbated the paranoia that Loghain was already suffering under and directly contributed to his abandoning the Wardens at Ostagar. Had the late king not insisted on sending Alistair and myself to light the signal beacon, Ferelden would be a smoking ruin now.”

“We cannot allow the secrets of the Wardens to leak out,” Clarel insisted.

“Yet so many things we consider classified are open knowledge,” Daylen retorted. “The Joining’s fatality rate, for example. Queen Anora – who most certainly is not a Warden – knew not only that the Joining existed in the first place, but also that it often kills those who undergo it! Our dedication to keeping our abilities and the truth behind why we’re necessary to end a Blight secret means that very few people truly believe that we are necessary. Much of Ostagar was a bad situation – we had no confirmed location on the archdemon, yet nearly the entirety of our very few Wardens were thrown into battle on the front lines because the reputation of the Wardens in Ferelden was fragile already and needed a boost. True, those two dozen Wardens inflicted such casualties on the section of the horde that faced them that the progression of the Blight was slowed to a crawl, but it still left us with only two Wardens who barely knew what they were doing.”

“Nobody is criticizing the results of your performance,” Merin said soothingly. “But many of our secrets are just that – secret. And for good reason.”

Daylen sighed. “I know. Believe me, I know. Some of the details about the Joining alone could make the Wardens enemies of every Andrastian in Thedas. But rulers in various nations know things that are closely guarded in other nations, and disclose them whenever it’s convenient for them. Make no mistake, I’m not advocating open disclosure of every detail about the Wardens. Merely a closed, highly limited briefing to the people in charge, explaining about the true necessity for the Wardens. Loghain told me himself that had he known the truth about the Wardens, he would have done things differently at Ostagar.”

“You cannot generalize on the basis of a single man’s reaction,” Merin objected.

“That ‘single man’s reaction’ nearly cost the lives of an entire nation,” Daylen pointed out. “And while we can stand here all evening and debate the ifs and maybes of what could have happened, I believe there are other reasons for every Warden-Commander in Thedas to grace me with their presence.”

“True,” Dernheim rumbled. “You have collected all possible blood from the corpse?”

“The corpse itself was a loss – I had hoped to inspect it for information on the weaknesses and characteristics of an Archdemon for future Blights, but the body was simply too damaged to extract any useful information beyond ‘clip its wings, then hit it with pointy things until it falls over.’ Hardly anything the Wardens didn’t already know.”

“We have documents, manuals on these things,” Dernheim supplied. “We will forward fresh copies to you.”

“Good,” Daylen replied. “We suffered a bit of a loss in that area. Over the course of three days, I bought, borrowed, or outright stole every flask and vial in Denerim that we could find. Or rather I had people go do it, between cleansing the city I was sustaining a stasis spell on the corpse to avoid losing any more blood than had already been spilt.”

“Impressive,” Davis said. “Must have been tricky magic.”

“It was...difficult, to cast any other spells for the entire time,” Daylen admitted. “It was like being an apprentice again. The draw on my mana was that great. Lyrium was no help in preserving the remains, and simply freezing it solid might have impeded our efforts to extract viable blood. We secured the city before I drained the corpse. Since then, I’ve done everything short of jump up and down on the body to see if I could squeeze more blood out.”

“How much, total?” Dernheim asked.

“I believe the final count was one hundred and twenty-three crates, each with forty vials,” Daylen replied. “Some have more with the different sizes of vials or flasks. Quite a bit of blood was spilt during the battle, you realize, and…” He trailed off as he saw the other Wardens staring at him. “Something wrong?”

“Did you say  _one hundred and twenty-three crates_?” Lucian asked.

A pregnant pause as Daylen looked at them in confusion. “…Yes?”

“With that amount of blood, we could sustain the Wardens for another four or five hundred years,” Lucian said faintly. “Assuming we recruited heavily.”

Daylen paused. “Ah. I hadn’t realized the significance of that amount. Well then, I suppose now’s a good as time as any to ask for a rather significant share of the haul. Besides the mass-recruiting we did after the final battle, we’re rather short on Wardens here.” A grin flitted across his face. “Unless I could persuade the lot of you to stay and join up.” That got some assorted chuckles. “But to be honest, yes, I would like some additional stock to replenish our numbers, beyond the assigned reserve.”

“Until your recruits are trained, I could offer to second you some of my Wardens,” Clarel offered.

“I would greatly appreciate that,” Daylen agreed. “Have them travel to Amaranthine. We’ve gotten a lot of reports about darkspawn there, so that’s where we’ll focus our efforts next.” Daylen mused on his next plan, before shrugging and taking the plunge. “On that note, you may have seen in the report I made that in the course of our mission we recovered the fortress at Soldier’s Peak.”

“Indeed,” Merin said. “That was fine work, by the way.”

“Yes, but I have plans for that fortress,” Daylen said. “Beyond the nutty maleficar Warden I found hiding in the attic,” he paused as another round of chuckles went around at Avernus’s expense, “I have decided to make Soldier’s Peak into a training and research center for the Wardens. Further, I have samples of Avernus’s alchemical concoction for anyone who should desire to use it or study it, along with notes on how to produce more.”

“What did you have in mind for Soldier’s Peak?” Jaryk asked.

“Training, mostly,” Daylen explained. “The idea is still fresh, so I haven’t hammered out many of the details yet. However, I would like to bring in as many specialists as possible for my Wardens in particular – and any Wardens you see fit to send over – to learn from. I personally have preliminary approval from an Antivan Crow I worked with, some of the army’s combat specialists, and quite a few mage techniques I think that should be passed on.” He looked at his colleagues. “However, if any of you have Warden specialists who would be interested in passing on some of their skills, I would welcome them with open arms and larders.”

“Anything else you need?”

“I would appreciate a few texts on Force Magic. I picked up the basics when I was in Kirkwall but never truly learned the discipline. From what I remember of it, that magic would be _very_ useful when facing darkspawn.”

“I’m sure we could send a few of our specialists over,” Lucian mused. “A good portion of my recruits are Crows or friends of the Crows.”

“I’m unsure if you would have any use for Rivaini specialists,” Merin said hesitantly. “Darkspawn don’t have navies, after all.”

Daylen immediately understood her reluctance and nodded. “If nothing else, anyone you send could return to Rivain and instruct the Wardens there.”

Dernheim raised an eyebrow. “And what of the Anders?”

“Well, I won’t lie, from the Anders I mostly need money,” Daylen said bluntly. “The Ferelden Wardens are skint broke and the country isn’t much better. I’ve got quite a few recruits – people who were Tainted during the fighting and survived the Joining – and no way to pay them. Additionally, I’m planning to cut a deal with some of the Alienage elves to help refurbish Soldier’s Peak and Vigil’s Keep and I need to pay them as well.”

“We’ll make it happen,” Dernheim nodded. “There are a few other matters, but I suppose this is a good time to tell you the most important one, concerning the leadership of the Wardens in Ferelden.”

“Oh, good,” Daylen replied. “You’ve got someone for the Warden-Commander slot?”

Dernheim stared at him. “You. Of course.”

Daylen paused. “Oh. Well. I suppose I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing, then.”

“We would not simply put someone in place over your head, despite how new you are to the order,” Dernheim went on. “You have distinguished yourself as a Warden, and we hope you will be bringing that skill and dedication to the new position.”

Daylen nodded, coming to attention. “I am grateful, Dernheim. Is there more business to discuss, or shall we get something to eat?”

—AOTG—

That evening, the Warden-Commanders had set up at the Warden compound in the Market District, while Daylen had split off to visit an old friend at the palace.

Technically, there hadn’t been a formal coronation yet, but Alistair was running things like he was already king. The man was harried and clearly short on sleep and patience as he attended to matter after matter, Arl Eamon of Redcliffe nearby and equally busy.

When Alistair spotted Daylen, he smiled faintly and wrapped up what he was working on, before asking for some privacy. “Welcome back,” he said, looking Daylen over. “You look rough.”

“I only got in this afternoon, met with the Warden-Commanders at Fort Drakon,” Daylen replied. “I didn’t tell them about how we survived.”

“Reasonably so,” Alistair muttered. “Besides, we’ve got a dead Archdemon and a dead Warden. I suppose they made the connection on their own. How are things out there?”

Daylen shrugged. “Worse than I’d hoped, better than I’d feared. You’ve seen the reports – we’re losing a lot of men without the mages to heal and protect, but we’re making better progress than I’d expected.”

Alistair sighed. “I tried to keep them longer, I really did. But the Chantry just wouldn’t have it.”

“I’m a little surprised nobody from the Chantry has tried to send me back to the Circle,” Daylen muttered. “Considering I’m the only active Warden left in Ferelden, I doubt I would have much in the way of backup if they did. Everyone else is separated out with the army. I heard Leliana is meeting with the Grand Cleric about…something,” He looked over at Alistair. “Should I be worried that the spiritual leader of this country is associating with a bard? Morrigan is…” he shook his head, looking down at the ring on his finger and fighting the urge to play with it. “Morrigan. Alistair, I need to find her. I have a lot of questions for her. Too many questions.”

“I still can’t understand why you did it, Daylen,” Alistair said quietly.

“Because both you and I can do more good alive than dead, and had I  _not_ done it, you or I would be as dead as the Archdemon is,” Daylen snapped. “If Riordan hadn’t pulled that idiotic dive off the top of the bloody tower, we might have had another option, but we are both alive and capable of working!”

“All right, all right,” Alistair said, holding his hands up. “I think I get it.” He grinned. “I’m pretty sure that if you asked nicely, she’d come back.”

“Very funny,” Daylen groused, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m still worried about the Chantry. They don’t much like mages without oversight, and with me taking command of the Ferelden Wardens, there really isn’t anybody around that I have to answer to.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if they have a point. Just about every apostate we encountered was either nuts or a blood mage. Or both.”

“Nobody you have to answer to? Yes there is,” Alistair said. “You. You’re one of the most upright, decent people I know, Daylen. The fact that what those people did disgusts you proves that you’re not like them.” He paused a moment. “Not that there’s many people who could stop you even if you did go bad.”

“Any mage with the brains and determination to learn could take me down,” Daylen said. “A mana draining spell could render me helpless. Mana Clash would kill me outright. Luckily for me, those spells aren’t exactly common. Morrigan and Wynne both know them, but neither of them is around.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Zevran could get the drop on me. Leliana too.”

“So that’s why you’re worried about her,” Alistair realized. “You’re worried the Grand Cleric might send her to spy on you.”

“Or you. Or assassinate, or kidnap, or a dozen other things,” Daylen admitted. “Frankly, I don’t know where Leliana’s loyalties really lie anymore. I don’t think she’s anything like Marjolaine was, but she does have a darkness to her.”

“Unless she’s playing one  _very_ long con, she’s loyal to us and Ferelden,” Alistair said quietly.

Daylen’s head snapped around. “You’ve been using her?”

“Not me. Eamon. I think Leliana is as much checking on various Revered Mothers and the Grand Clerics’ loyalties as much as she is doing anything else. She did send those Templars after you, after all.” Daylen’s eyes widened, and Alistair nodded grimly. “She admitted to it. She saw a loose mage and reacted according to policy.” Daylen scowled, but Alistair pressed on. “There’s other business to attend to. The coronation is in a week. We’ve sent messengers out to the arls and banns and the rest of our companions.” The man shook his head. “Still can’t believe I’m going to be king.”

“You seem to be handling it well so far.”

Alistair grumbled. “Yes, but there’s just so much nonsense. Why do I care about two banns arguing over a bloody tree? Literally, two banns out by the Waking Sea have been arguing for _ten years_ over whose land a tree is sitting on.”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of politics,” Eamon said, joining them. “Did you tell him?”

“I was getting to that,” Alistair replied. “Hunting down disparate bands of darkspawn is something I can have the army do. We have that on our side now, you know. I need you to get back to work.”

“You’ve got something specific in mind.”

“Two issues with one solution – you. There’s been reports of the darkspawn taking up residence in the arling of Amaranthine.”

“Howe’s old arling. I guess arseholes come in packs.”

Alistair snorted. “Well, there are a lot of caves and mines out there. I need you to check it out, that seems to be the biggest concentration of darkspawn.”

“And the other issue?”

“You’re going to get into politics too. We’re giving the Wardens Amaranthine. As Warden-Commander, you’re now the Arl. Or you will be.”

Daylen stared at him a moment. “Come again?”

“It’s going to be a Warden arling,” Alistair explained. “Think about it. The Wardens will have a base of their own, income from taxes so that they’re not totally dependent on tithes, and they’ll look good doing it.”

“I realize you’ve been out of the game a bit, but Wardens can’t hold titles. And mages definitely can’t.”

“The Arl will be whoever is in place as Warden-Commander, and if there’s one thing you seem to know how to do, it’s break tradition and shake things up,” Alistair said brightly. “I’m just asking you to do it more.”

“That’s going to be some interesting legal maneuvering,” Daylen remarked. “Considering that active Wardens can’t hold titles and mages _definitely_ can’t hold titles.”

“You led us through the Blight just fine,” Alistair objected.

Daylen rolled his eyes. “Right. I led a group that consisted of eight miscreants and a dog. And the hardest decision I had to make in that entire mess was whether or not to sleep with a woman who was already my lover.”

“Well, just try not to sleep with Bann Esmerelle,” Alistair replied dryly. “From what I understand, she and Howe had a long-term affair.”

“And now I feel like I need another wash,” Daylen said. “Alistair, I’m twenty-one. You really think I’m in any way qualified to be an Arl? Or the Warden-Commander? Let alone both?”

Alistair stared at him a moment before bursting into laughter. “You’re one to talk! You made me king, in case you’ve forgotten!”

“It was either that or leave Anora on the throne, alone, or set you two up in some political marriage. And frankly, I think she’s only interested in what’s best for Ferelden as long as what’s best for Ferelden is her on the throne,” Daylen said. “I see three problems with this. A, I’m a Warden. We don’t hold titles. Two, I’m a mage, and we _really_ aren’t allowed to hold titles. And D, strictly speaking, I’m a foreigner. You really expect the people of Amaranthine to swallow all three of those? One, maybe. Two, no. Three, definitely not.”

“We’ll make it work,” Eamon assured him. “This may be an interesting experience for the First Warden.”

“For all the good he was during the Blight,” Alistair grumbled.

“He really buggered the mabari on that one,” Daylen said. “Thought he’d be sending an example to the rest of Thedas – don’t turn your back on the Wardens, or your country gets overrun by darkspawn. Now he looks like a right arse by having just two Wardens put down a Blight. Not only did he not make his point, he made the opposite! You don’t need the whole order, just two!”

“And with a mage taking such a high profile during the Blight, and doing so much good, you’ve pissed off a few Revered Mothers,” Alistair added. “Nearly every noble in the country has sent requests to allow them to hire a mage. Mostly as healers, but several on the Bannorn want a mage to help purge Blighted fields or assist with bandit attacks, that sort of thing.”

“Can’t say that would be a bad thing, but I doubt it would ever happen,” Daylen mused. “They just don’t want the mages out of their control.”

“Get some rest,” Alistair instructed. “We’ve got some work to do.”

Back in his room, Daylen unpacked, digging through his gear and frowning. For weeks while on the road, he had passed some time and cleared his mind by carving at a block of hard oak he had picked up, intending to whittle out a griffon. But the last time he had seen it was the night before the army departed from Redcliffe, when the griffon had been almost complete. The chunk of wood was no longer among his belongings.

—AOTG—

The day of the coronation was bright and sunny, a spring day that reflected the mood of the city. A ridiculous downpour that left everyone stinking of damp wool and silk had happened before, but the weather was pleasant as the banns and Arls of Ferelden filed into the Landsmeet chamber.

Alistair addressed the congregation, his dragonbone plate armor repaired and polished since the Battle of Denerim. With his weapons strapped tightly across his armor, the man looked every inch the warrior king he had become. “The Blight is over,” he declared. “With the death of the Archdemon atop Fort Drakon, the darkspawn horde broke. Most fled back into the Deep Roads. Many still remain on the surface, and we are making every effort to find them and root them out. The people of Ferelden will not be forgotten. I made a promise that after the Blight I would return here and assume the throne as was the will of the Landsmeet. I will honor that promise.”

The coronation was a relatively subdued affair, Ferelden’s Grand Cleric crowning Alistair and pronouncing his rise to the throne the will of the Maker. After imparting her blessing, she stepped to the side, watching proudly.

“My friends, my subjects, my brothers,” King Alistair said. “We are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory. To those enchanters of the Circle of Magi, most of whom could not be here with us today, we extend our deepest thanks. Many were lost in the fighting, but far more would have died if not for their aid. To the dwarves of Orzammar, we also extend our deepest thanks. Their troops and experience against the darkspawn were vital in turning the tide, as well as cutting off the darkspawn’s retreat in the Deep Roads. In light of that, we will extend to the dwarves an offer of aid in their eternal fight against the darkspawn. And to the Dalish elves, who put the lives of their clan on the line to help Ferelden in its hour of need, we extend our deepest thanks. In gratitude for their assistance, the hinterlands north of the Korcari Wilds, including Ostagar, are hereby granted to the Dalish elves. It’s rugged land, and there will be much for us to work out, but let’s hope this is just a first step in our people working together. May they finally find the homeland they have sought for so long.”

Daylen stood by quietly, understanding the limited recognition provided to the mages. There was little the Crown could have done for the Circle, but any positive recognition at all was rare. Vague promises of assistance to the dwarves were all well and good, and could easily be welched on later. The land that had been granted to the Dalish elves was land that nobody else particularly wanted, but it was a start. Keeper Lanaya, at least, seemed impressed by the boon.

“I was proud to fight alongside you during the Battle of Denerim,” Alistair continued, looking out at the nobles. “I saw bravery and dedication from you and your troops that I had not seen outside the Grey Wardens. Of those who stood against the darkspawn siege of Denerim, there is one in particular who deserves commendation.” He met Daylen’s eyes, and the Warden-Commander smiled. “The one who led the final charge against the Archdemon remains with us still, an inspiration to all he saved that day. Step forward.” Daylen mounted the steps and stood alongside Alistair. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Hero of Ferelden, the first Grey Warden to defeat the Blight since Garahel four centuries ago!” Applause and cheers rocked the hall, and Daylen bowed slightly to the crowd in acknowledgement. Alistair waited until the noise died down. “My friend, it is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more. I think it only appropriate that I return the favor. Is there any boon that you might request of Ferelden’s king? If it is within my power, I will grant it.”

“I have no need for a boon, your Majesty,” Daylen said quietly.

“Nothing? Not even a pony?” Daylen smiled faintly, and his friend looked triumphant at being able to cheer him up.

“I only wish to continue serving the Crown and the Wardens,” the Hero of Ferelden replied.

“Suit yourself. I have to ask, what are you going to do now?”

“Well, there’s a lot to be done,” Daylen admitted. “We’ve still got darkspawn crawling all over the country, the Wardens will need rebuilding, I did promise to help you run the country, and there’s the giant presumably stinking corpse sitting on top of Fort Drakon. I’ll be doing a lot of traveling.” He raised an eyebrow as a thought occurred to him. “I may take you up on that offer of a pony.”

Alistair chuckled. “Whatever you need, my friend.”

“Also, I feel that the sacrifices of the Wardens should not be forgotten again.”

“Now that’s a very good point,” Alistair acknowledged. “I think we can begin with a monument here in Denerim, dedicated to the Grey Wardens who have fallen – Duncan, Riordan, all of them. And it is high time some scholars were collected to learn more about the darkspawn. We’ll face them again, with the dwarves as well as on the surface. I hereby name you to the position of Court Mage of Ferelden, where you will use your abilities to better the interests of the kingdom against the darkspawn.”

Alistair paused, steeling himself before continuing. “ The Grey Wardens of Ferelden were crippled, not only by a lack of experience and numbers, but also by their lack of resources. For many years, the Wardens had not received the tithes they were guaranteed by treaty. As the last year has proven, the darkspawn are an ongoing threat, even if they do not appear on the surface. Leaving the Grey Wardens so crippled only hurts us in the long run, and as such, the Grey Wardens must be given their due.” Most of the nobles looked confused, and several looked terrified at the idea of having to pay what they owed the Wardens. It would only be more financially crippling with the added cost of repairs and cleanup from the Blight. Alistair and Eamon had planned well, and the King gave the nobility a way out. “To that end, the arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens. There they can rebuild, following the example of those who went before them.” That got some murmurs going, some less pleased than others. “The nominal arl or arlessa would be the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, stationed at Vigil’s Keep, the seat of power in the arling. It would no longer be a hereditary title, but one assigned by charter. With their own holding, they can both support themselves and protect Ferelden.”

It was a good point. At the moment, the nobility understood the importance of the Grey Wardens. But in a century or two, when people no longer wished to pay their proper tithes, the Grey Wardens would still have a share of their tenants’ crops and fishing hauls, and a strong fortress that against the darkspawn. Alistair’s maneuvering had given the nobles a way to ignore their financial obligation to the Wardens while preventing them from speaking out too emphatically against it. Objections were raised, of course, once the details were laid out. Multiple times the sentence “magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him,” was said, before it was pointed out that an arl or bann was supposed to serve his subjects as much as they served him. The idea had a surprising level of support, especially among those who had suffered from Howe’s machinations and looked forward to seeing his legacy torn down.

“Do you have anything to say to the Landsmeet?” Alistair asked.

Daylen nodded. “Let it be known that the Grey Wardens stand firm against the darkspawn, but that the good of Ferelden is our highest priority. The arling of Amaranthine is currently hounded by darkspawn bands, but any citizen of Ferelden who finds themselves in need can turn to us. Our fortress at Soldier’s Peak in the teyrnir of Highever will have healers and warriors stationed there, offering aid as well. The darkspawn are still out there, but the Grey Wardens will _never_ turn our backs on this kingdom. Should you call for aid, the Grey Wardens will answer.”

There was a great deal more speechifying, of course, before things began to dissolve into a less formal celebration. Whispers were heard, a few people speculating that Daylen had used blood magic and compelled Alistair to grant the Wardens the arling. Others mentioned doubts that Alistair was truly Maric’s offspring, or commented that Eamon already appeared to be pulling strings from behind the throne.

“I would think that snide whispers and vicious gossip such as this would be more trouble to deal with,” Daylen admitted. “After all, I haven’t attended many of these things, and the last one I attended did end in an attempted murder, but I understand that it’s considered uncouth to stab someone at a formal dinner.”

Teagan chuckled. “Quite so. They aren’t usually that exciting. Or bloody.”

—AOTG—

It was easy to see who was pretending to be who at a high-class party, Daylen mused. Just about everyone seemed to fall into one of three groups.

First, there were the nobles, diplomats, and their retainers, essential at any upper-class party. Easily identified by the fine outfits and the air of utter superiority and disdain for everyone below their station that comes with the knowledge that you are somehow more important than the common man. There were several upper-level Chantry members present, as was to be expected in any party like this. The subjects of discussion varied between vitally important and completely irrelevant – from how to finance the rebuilding of the roads and towns damaged by the darkspawn, to who was wearing what fashion. Several banns seemed to be intent on one-upping each other to see whose holdings had most been damaged by the Blight.

Next were the soldiers, a far smaller group. Also easily identified, this time by their posture and typically more minimalist outfits. Some were wearing dress uniforms, but the only armor visible in the room was on the guards. Some were wearing finer clothing, but all of them were discussing practical, military matters – securing the border, rebuilding the reserve, increased patrols to resolve the upsurge in banditry.

And then there was the staff. Quiet, unassuming, with a surprisingly large percentage of elves. Constantly in motion, as opposed to the other groups that seemed to cluster for periods of discussion before moving on. Carrying trays of snacks and glasses of wine, nodding politely to any noble who would snag something from the tray and generally ignore the staff.

And it was all bullshit. Oh, the nobles were certainly nobles, that was certain. Most of them were lower-level nobles hoping to work their way up the ladder, but it was too easy to find out who was or wasn’t from a noble family to pretend. The question was how many of their retainers, how many of the soldiers, and how many of the staff were actually spies, bards, or assassins, looking for opportunities to offer their services or ply their trade.

Daylen’s mind turned to the future, wondering where the next threat to Ferelden would come from. Orlais was still an unknown. The Orlesian Wardens were reporting victories against the darkspawn and very few remained in the country, but Cailan’s correspondence with Empress Celene troubled him. Cailan never could have made the alliance, even with Eamon’s support, although Eamon had disavowed all knowledge of Cailan’s possible marriage to Celene. Even if the Couslands had been Orlesian supporters, the majority of the Landsmeet would never have agreed to it, and even if he had set Anora aside and married Celene, Cailan would have been removed quickly by the Orlesian ruler as a threat to her power. Clearly, the Empire still had an interest in ruling Ferelden.

“Ah, Warden,” a voice said, and Daylen snapped out of his reverie to look over at the speaker. “Enjoying the party?”

Daylen gave the woman a wry grin. “Ah, Bann Alfstanna, I must admit, we didn’t have many fine dinner parties at the Circle. A dozen or nobles have already spoken with me, but I find myself unsure of what to talk about.”

“Yes, I imagine that you might feel out of place here,” she said.

“Few of these people would be capable of discussing magical theory,” Daylen replied, gesturing with a glass of wine. “And fewer would be comfortable speaking with me to begin with.”

“You think you intimidate them?”

“Not exactly,” Daylen sipped his wine before continuing. “Most people are uncomfortable speaking with a mage. Some silly idea that we’re capable of turning them into frogs. However, there’s nothing that makes a noble less enthusiastic about talking to someone than the knowledge that you owe them money. The Wardens are owed quite a bit of back tithes from the Bannorn.” He shrugged. “And I have little to say to nobles to begin with. There isn’t much that a former Circle mage and the head of the Wardens could have to say to a noble, beyond perhaps discussion of darkspawn sightings and possible recruitment.” He smiled faintly. “And I have already heard about darkspawn sightings from just about every Bann and Arl in Ferelden.”

“And your recruitment?”

“Why join the Wardens?” Daylen asked rhetorically. “The Blight is over, and judging by history, there will not be another for two to four hundred years. The only people who want to join up right now either have nothing left to lose and a personal grudge against the darkspawn, or only see the Wardens as a path to glory.”

“And those are undesirable qualities for a Warden?”

“Not exactly,” Daylen allowed after a pause. “The former, sometimes. If their need to kill darkspawn conflicts with their discipline or ability to follow orders, they become a liability rather than an asset. On the other hand, it can be very useful. Take Alistair, excuse me, King Alistair, for an example. After Ostagar, he had a chip on his shoulder the size of a mountain and nothing left that the darkspawn could take from him. Look at him now. The latter quality is usually undesirable, however. Being a Warden is a heavy burden. It isn’t glorious. The man or woman who kills the Archdemon gets glory. The rest are quietly forgotten by those outside the Wardens.”

“And those inside?”

Daylen took another sip of wine. “We keep the names of every Warden who falls. Every one.” He sighed. “We stand in the shadows, against the dark, to serve the light. They may not remember us, but those of us who fall in battle do so for the greatest cause of all.”

“Love?” Alfstanna asked.

Daylen opened his mouth to reply, before closing it and thinking. “Of a sort, I suppose,” he said. “There’s a proverb attributed to Andraste that goes ‘Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.’ Now, the Wardens are just about everyone’s friends, when the darkspawn come calling. I personally would have put it as ‘the preservation of our world,’ but yes, I suppose love is a good way to put it. We do what we have to,” he tipped the glass towards the Bann, “for you,” he gestured towards the other nobles, “for them,” he drank deeply. “And for Thedas. We are Wardens. It’s what we do.”

“Warden,” Alfstanna said quietly, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “Daylen. I must say, you are a very charismatic man.”

“And you are a very beautiful woman,” Daylen murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. “But I’m afraid that–”

“Stop, right there,” she interrupted. “Go back to that first part. Up to the ‘but.’”

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” Daylen said.

“Thank you. As for the rest…” she shrugged. “I can guess for myself. Is there someone else?”

 _Golden eyes, raven hair, a single eyebrow raised with a mocking smile._ “Yes,” Daylen rasped, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I hope to be reunited with her one day.”

“Well,” Alfstanna replied, standing up straighter. “You simply must tell me all about her. Come on, then.” She hooked an arm through his.

Daylen looked down, surprised at the sudden motion. “What?”

“Oh, please,” Alfstanna scoffed. “I’m not going to let you simply stand in the corner the entire time. I came over to see why you were looking so forlorn.”

For a while, Daylen was paraded about, introduced to various nobles, lesser nobles, captains, lieutenants, and essentially everybody else vaguely important enough to wrangle an invitation. Keeping track of names and locations was difficult enough, but Alfstanna quickly warned him that doing so was less important than it might seem, unless they were to be his future subjects.

After an hour of this, Daylen spotted Eamon looking shaken and was at his side moments later. “Eamon, are you all right?” Daylen asked. “You look unwell.”

“Yes,” the older man coughed. “I’m just…” He shook his head. “My apologies. I’m only realizing now how fortunate I was at Fort Drakon. The size of that beast…”

“I know, it’s unsettling to realize how close to death you’ve come,” Daylen said reassuringly. “You fought an Archdemon and lived, and you aren’t even a Warden. I doubt many other men in history could make that claim. Story to tell your grandkids, if you have any.”

“I should be so lucky,” Eamon replied. “With Connor…” He straightened up, remembering where he was. “I’m sorry.”

“Eamon,” Bryland said quietly. “There is no shame in admitting it. Your son is a mage. A dozen mages turned the tide of a losing battle here in Denerim. A mage killed an Archdemon. He is at the Circle now.”

“I know, Leonas,” Eamon snapped. “But my son is lost to me. He seems well enough, but the Circle will never let him go. Isolde refuses to speak of what happened. She says she never wants to go back.” He looked to the Warden. “I cannot thank you enough for saving them. They are the joy of my existence.”

“Well, not to be crass,” Daylen offered, “but he’d be welcome at the Wardens, once he’s old enough. Your son is a good boy, Eamon. And I know people at the Circle. They’ll look after him.” The Warden silently congratulated himself on his growing skill in diplomacy, considering it was Isolde’s fault Redcliffe was nearly destroyed.

“Thank you, Warden.” Daylen nodded warmly, moving off as he spotted some of his companions.

“So here we are,” Leliana said, having either purchased or stolen a finely made gown. “The conquering hero has won the day, and now he takes a bow and exits the stage. A fine ending.”

“Maybe this story’s ending, but the next one has already started,” Daylen replied. “You should be taking a bow with me.”

Leliana smiled. “Oh, my part was small. I’m happy to watch you receive the accolades. It’s quite fun.”

“And lets you stay out of the spotlight,” Daylen surmised.

The bard gave him a cheeky wink. “You know, I can’t help now but think of my vision. The Maker sent me to help you, and look what you did. It’s a miracle, truly.” Daylen shrugged, and Leliana rolled her eyes at his lack of faith. “That’s what they will say in the ages to come. You are what we needed most at the moment we needed it. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I suppose,” Daylen admitted. “But there’s still work to do.”

“Oh, of course, but things are going back to normal, for the most part. Or at least as normal as things ever can get in Ferelden. Where are all the balls and dance festivals?”

“Back in Orlais where they belong," Daylen snorted.

"Come now, Daylen, just think how much good it would do everyone.”

“And the shoes, don’t forget the shoes,” Daylen replied. “What’s next for you?”

“I’ve been asked by the Chantry to return to the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I need to make sure it’s protected. Maybe pilgrims can even begin going there again. I’ll look after Brother Genitivi.”

“I was hoping you would come with me, but I understand,” Daylen said. “Are you sure bringing pilgrims to the Urn is a good idea?”

“Of course I do,” Leliana scoffed. “I can’t think of anything more important – I can give something thought lost back to the entire world! It will be a grand adventure of my very own, and I’m looking forward to it.”

“Well, I wish you nothing but the best, Leliana,” Daylen said warmly. “May the Maker watch over you.”

“And you as well,” Leliana replied.

Daylen encountered Sten standing next to Cupcake, who had been put out to stud with several fine lines of mabari. Ferelden’s population of hounds had taken a hard hit during the Blight, and Cupcake was doing his part to help them bounce back – at a tidy profit. Not every dog could claim to have fought darkspawn and dragons. “It is good to see you again, _kadan_ ,” Sten said. “These people, they call you ‘hero.’ It is a strange word, but I think I understand its meaning. The Arishok on occasion has declared a Qunari to be _qunoran vehl_ , one who serves as an example to others. Such examples are always made after their death, however. A death in service to the Qun. A living _qunoran vehl_ would be too proud.”

“If they were truly an example, would they not be humble in the face of their new title?” Daylen asked. “Being _qunoran vehl_ would be a greater challenge and something to live up to.”

“I…suppose,” Sten admitted.

“Do the Qunari celebrate and put on parades?”

“When a _qunoran vehl_ is declared, certainly. It is one of the few occasions when the Qunari are permitted to engage in…revelry. There is imbibing of spirits, public chanting, meditations abandoned, it is madness.”

“Sounds like it would be quite a sight.”

“It is…interesting. It can take days for the Ben-Hassrath to restore order. There may even be executions.” He paused a moment. “I suppose I should tell you. I have decided to return to my people. Your quest is done, and thus so is my reason for accompanying you.”

“That will be a long trip home,” Daylen said.

“Yes. It will be difficult to travel alone after…so much time spent with companions. It must be said – you found my sword and gave me a chance to restore my honor. I owe you a great debt.”

“And I may collect on that, one day,” Daylen said softly.

“Should I be in a position to repay, I will. Whatever is asked.”

“Sten, if you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

“Of course,” Sten replied. “I simply need to put a kitten a tree, and you’ll come running. Or perhaps place myself in the most tedious of misfortunes. You will be there. Even if it means traveling across a country. Especially if it means traveling across a country.”

Daylen grinned. “That hurts, Sten. That’s hurtful.”[1]

“Perhaps I shall see you again one day. Until then, may you always find the path you seek. Farewell, _kadan_.”

Zevran was busily charming a noble’s wife, until Daylen interjected. “Enjoying yourself, Zevran?”

“I will be relieved when all this pomp and ceremony is done,” the elf admitted. “Such events are perfect opportunities for assassins, after all. I can’t help but expect the Crows to appear at any moment. Which would be a welcome break, mind you.”

“Yes, a bloodbath does sound like a fun idea,” Daylen remarked. “I’m pretty sure there are at least two bards and maybe three assassins dressed as the staff.”

“You see? This is why I like you. Always game for a little fun.” The elf paused. “You know, it does occur to me that staying in one place is only going to invite the Crows to find me that much quicker. While fun, that might eventually get…complicated.”

“Well, I’ll be heading to Amaranthine soon,” Daylen offered. “You’re welcome to come along, or you could go to Soldier’s Peak. The Warden recruits there will need training, and you’re a great fighter.”

“Then let the Crows bring it on,” Zevran said with a grin. “I can mock them while you crush their skulls. It’s the sort of thing that made us friends, after all. Brings a tear to the eye, really.”

“Keep an eye out, yes?”

“I’ll make sure no one gets a clear shot,” Zevran promised. “Not without paying me a great deal of coin, anyhow.”

The Warden was still chuckling when found Wynne standing next to Irving, both of them looking at him with nothing but pride in their eyes. “Ah, here he is. ‘The Hero of Ferelden.’ My, my. How does it feel?” Wynne asked.

“Well-deserved,” Daylen quipped. “Still hard to believe we did it.”

“I suppose it is, at that,” Wynne admitted. “A Blight defeated with the other nations barely becoming aware. Who could ask for better?”

“I could,” Daylen said. “If we’d been faster, if people had worked with us…”

“Ah, Daylen, don’t get caught up in the what-ifs,” Wynne advised. “You accomplished what many are calling a miracle. Enjoy what you have saved, mourn those lost, but do not drown in regret.”

“I wonder how long the love will last,” Daylen replied. “The mages distinguished themselves and saved countless lives.”

“Until you do something wrong, and then they will enjoy tearing you down just as rapidly,” Wynne said. “I’m glad to not be on the receiving end of all this attention, myself. I say let the young have their fun.”

“What’s next for you?”

“Well,” Wynne spared the mage standing next to her a glance, “Irving has asked me to take over as First Enchanter. But I don’t wish to go back, not after all this. Instead, I’ve decided to travel. Shale has expressed a desire to go to Tevinter to look into a way to regain her mortality, and I will join her.”

“But what about your…problem?” Daylen said, his eyes flicking over to Irving momentarily.

“I know about Wynne’s condition,” Irving replied quietly. “I do worry about her mental state, but a Spirit of Faith is a rare thing. I trust in her ability to maintain herself for whatever time the spirit may grant her.”

Wynne nodded. “It’s true, I don’t know how much time I have. Maybe not very long at all. So I shall see as much of the world as the Maker allows. Perhaps this is a gift, in the end. A nudge in the right direction, maybe. I doubt we will meet again, young man. If not…please accept my best wishes.”

Daylen surprised the enchanter with a warm hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Wynne.” She moved off, giving Irving and Daylen some privacy.

“Ah, child, I am so proud of you,” Irving said. “It is very strange to hear so many speak of a mage in such glowing terms. Deserved, of course, but still not what I am accustomed to. Allow me to offer you my congratulations, and my thanks. The tower is now nearly restored to order, thanks to your efforts and the help of that young dwarf Dagna. The Veil is still thinned, but it could have been so much worse.”

“You’re welcome, First Enchanter.”

“It pleases me to see such a young pupil achieve prominence. I look forward to watching what you accomplish next,” Irving replied. “Uldred’s revolt left me…very quick to tire these days. Retirement will come soon, I think.”

“Don’t quit just yet,” Daylen said. “There’s an apprentice coming to the tower I’d like you to look after. Mentor him as you did me. He’s been through a lot.”

“The Guerrin boy?” Irving asked. Daylen nodded. “I will give him my utmost attention. And I shall see to it that his…previous situation is kept quiet.”

Daylen caught up with Wynne a moment later. “Look, I sort of did something and I need your advice. But I don’t want a lot of judgment or criticism.”

Wynne stared at him a moment. “And you came to me?”

Daylen paused. “Good point. Never mind.”

Oghren was drinking with both hands, a crowd of dwarves around him. “Humans have a better taste for spirits than I thought,” the dwarf said, gesturing with a tankard. “The ale up here is good.”

“You sticking around?”

“Eh, for now,” Oghren shrugged. “They may have already branded me a surfacer back home, anyhow. I’m getting used to that big sky up there. And I’m thinking I might just look up Felsi again, see where that goes.”

“Well, if you wind up looking for a job, the Wardens at Soldier’s Peak need to learn how to knock heads, and I can’t think of a better person to learn from than you,” Daylen offered. “If not, I hope things work out with Felsi. I hope you two are happy.”

“Ha! I’ll drink to that!” Oghren drained one tankard, then the other. “Ah, well, enough babbling. That pot-bellied son of a whore Teagan said I’d pass out before drinking an entire barrel of pickle juice. I aim to prove him wrong.”

Daylen snickered. “Oghren, don’t ever change.”

The dwarf laughed. “Who, me? It’s been good traveling with you, Warden. Don’t get lost in the shuffle, now.”

Alistair caught his eye, breaking away from a group of petitioners with Shale nearby. “So we made it.”

Daylen nodded. “Yes, we did. Now we just…keep going, I guess.”

The two stood there for a moment, neither one able to properly express their feelings. Shale broke the silence. “So it has become king after all, yes?”

“It looks that way.”

“Is this not a good thing? This is a position of importance, no? Did it not want to be king?”

Alistair shook his head. “Not really, no. We don't always get what we want, however, do we?”

“If I were king, I would order that all birds be shot out of the sky,” Shale mused. “I would arm everyone with bows and put them on constant vigil.”

“Well, let's be glad you're not king, then.”

“I suspect it thinks that would be a pointless endeavor. But it would be wrong.”

“Ummm, right...” Alistair said slowly. “Just as an aside? This bird thing of yours? Creepy.”

“I do not have a ‘bird thing,’” Shale insisted. “I have an extremely justified rage of the flying vermin that plague this world.”

“But there are some birds that are useful. Like the ones you eat!”

“I approve of the ritual slaying of the foul beasts, but—it eats one? Disgusting.”

“They're really quite tasty. You just need to rip off the feathers, first,” Alistair explained. “I like the skin, myself.”

“I... think I am going to be sick...”

Alistair’s eyes widened. “Ooh! Golem vomit! This I have to see!”

Shale groaned, before turning to Daylen. “So it survived after all. My impression that all creatures made of flesh were hopelessly squishy was…premature.”

“You’re right about _most_ people,” Daylen replied.

“No doubt. It has proven to me, however, that fleshiness does not automatically mean squishiness. It has made me revise my opinion of its kind – _my_ kind – I am, or at least was, a dwarf. A creature of flesh. I have to keep reminding myself that. In fact, I think I may even try to become one again.”

“Wynne mentioned something about that,” Daylen remembered. “Do you think you can?”

“Wynne has offered to accompany me to Tevinter, to speak with the mages there. The Circle of Minrathous has the largest collection of arcane knowledge in Thedas. If it is possible to reverse this…process, then the knowledge to do so will be there. Or that is my hope. And if not? Then I will keep looking. I have nothing if not time, yes?”

“I wish you the best of luck, Shale,” Daylen said sincerely.

“I intend to return, eventually…unless I finally decide to destroy all pigeons everywhere. That may take a while. But otherwise, I will come back. If it happens to one day see a tiny little dwarf who appears very nervous of being squished…that will be me. Until then, I wish it well. It – _you_ – have been a fine friend.”

Alistair was over by the exit door and caught Daylen’s attention, waving him over. “There’s a group of Fereldan citizens waiting outside to get a look at their hero,” he said. “I suggest you make at least a brief appearance before they storm the gate. Just tell the guard when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” Daylen said immediately. “I suppose they’re getting restless.” The guard nodded. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Just put in an appearance, so I understand it,” the guard replied. “The people just want to see their hero in person. I’m supposed to take you to your escort. Full brigade, their armor all shined up and everything. They’re really honored to be guarding you, let me tell you.”

“Let’s go, then.”

—AOTG—

 _The Four Schools of Magic: Entropy_  
To you, my second-born, I grant this gift:  
In your heart shall burn  
An unquenchable flame  
All-consuming, and never satisfied.  
\--Threnodies 5:7.

_The first of the two Schools of Matter, Entropy is the opposing force of Creation; for this reason it is often called the School of Negation. Nothing lives without death. Time inevitably brings an end to all things in the material world, and yet in this ending is the seed of a beginning. A river may flood its banks, causing havoc, but bring new life to its floodplain. The fire that burns a forest ushers in new growth. And so it is with entropic magic that we manipulate the forces of erosion, decay, and destruction to create anew._

_\--From The Four Schools: A Treatise, by First Enchanter Josephus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1Even if it is true. [ return to text ]


	2. Arrival at Vigil's Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot of Awakening kicks off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The Four Schools of Magic: Creation_  
Opposition in all things:  
For earth, sky  
For winter, summer  
For darkness, Light.  
By My will alone is balance sundered  
And the world given new life.  
\--Threnodies 5:5.

_The School of Creation, sometimes called the School of Nature, is the second of the Schools of Matter, the balancing force and complement of Entropy. Creation magic manipulates natural forces, transforming what exists and bringing new things into being._

_Creation requires considerable finesse, more than any other school, and is therefore rarely mastered. Those mages who have made a serious study of creation are the highest in demand, useful in times of peace as well as war._

_\--From The Four Schools: A Treatise, by First Enchanter Josephus._

—AOTG—

The honor guard came to attention as Daylen exited the Landsmeet chamber. Shouts were audible through the thick oak doors. “Well, I suppose we should get out there,” Daylen said. The troops formed up around him, their leader nodding to the guards at the doors. The crowd roared as the Warden came into view, and Daylen waved, pasting a smile on his face.

Daylen looked out at the sea of faces and heard the shouts of congratulations and gratitude. Deep down, he knew the work wasn’t over. Deep down, he knew the darkspawn were still a problem. Deep down, he knew that there would still be threats to Ferelden. But for the time being, he could relax and enjoy the moment.

Daylen raised his hands, signaling for quiet. Slowly, the noise drew down, and the Warden raised his voice. “Citizens of Denerim! The Blight is over!” A cheer went up, and Daylen waited until they calmed down enough to be heard. “We have lost much, but the Archdemon lays dead and the darkspawn are scattered. I give you my solemn word that the Grey Wardens will never abandon Ferelden. As long as there are darkspawn, we will stand against them! Ferelden has lost much, but we will rebuild!” Daylen paused, taking a deep breath. “In the memory of those that have been lost, I ask for a moment of silence.” The courtyard fell silent, and Daylen bowed his head, thinking of everyone who fell to the darkspawn. “May the Maker take them into His arms. Now, I’m afraid I must return inside. There’s still work to be done!” Cheers and shouts of gratitude followed the Warden and the escort back inside.

—AOTG—

Eamon groaned quietly as he sat down in the study at his estate. “Oh, it has been a _long_ day.”

“To say the least,” Daylen agreed, pulling out a chair for himself. He sat down, his face troubled.

Eamon sat back in his chair. “Warden, are you all right?”

“Not really,” Daylen admitted with a weak smile. “I fought alongside most of these people for almost a year, you see. And now, they’re just…leaving. I don’t really know how to feel about it. I mean, I’m glad the Blight is over, don’t get me wrong about that.” He scratched his head, taking a sip of brandy. “The job’s done, the quest complete, there’s no real outside reason for us to stick together like we did. But I feel like I’m losing my closest friends.” He paused for a moment. “I _am_ losing my closest friends. Sure, Sten wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life here in Ferelden, I get that he has other obligations. Yes, I made Alistair king, he wasn’t going to be free to go adventuring with me after that. Shale has her own plans, and I can support that, and Wynne going with her makes sense. But the others? Leliana, Oghren, Zevran? They’re all heading their separate ways, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve been abandoned. Zevran might stay, but everyone else?”

“They were your family, or close enough,” Eamon concluded.

Daylen paused, thinking. “I guess so,” he admitted. “Family isn’t based on what runs in your veins. When things get bad, the people who stand beside you without flinching – they’re your family. Sometimes a family is a bog witch, an assassin, a spy nun with a good singing voice, a living statue, a little old lady who can flatten buildings with her mind, a giant with a sweet tooth, a dwarven warrior fueled by alcohol and rage, a bastard prince, and a dog.”

“Daylen?” The mage looked up. “Please don’t do that again. When you lay out what Ferelden was relying on to stop the Blight, I’m amazed we aren’t all dead.”

The mage snorted. “If anyone had been taking action on the Blight, I never would have put money on us.”

“I hope you’ve realized the potential results of your actions.”

Daylen scratched his chin. “Not particularly, besides ‘we all get to live another year.’ Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“On the contrary,” the older man said. “You did everything I could think of right. You united a nation, saved the world, spared lives when you could and limited bloodshed when you couldn’t. You, a mage, built an army and led it to victory against a Blight. You killed an archdemon. We won, they lost. We lived, they died. And _you_ did it. Not Alistair, that is well-known. _You_ saved us, without stooping to blood magic or demon summoning or even anything particularly unsavory. You saved the world and you did it in a publicly acceptable manner, even if the Wardens use whatever it takes to win.”

“You’re making me blush,” Daylen said dryly.

“You may have done more in the last year for the public perception of mages than has been done since the founding of the Circle.” Eamon leant back in the chair. “And that is going to make you a target.”

“Excuse me?”

“Since our talk at Redcliffe after my recovery, I’ve made some inquiries. Some discreet, some less so.”

Daylen winced slightly as he recalled the conversation. Daylen had spent most of it ranting about the Chantry, but had warned Eamon to make sure his son knew of his father’s love for him endured. “And what did you find?”

“Many, many people in the Chantry encourage public fear and hatred of magic and mages and rely on its continued existence. It is strong in the Chantry itself, hence their zealous approach to the containment and policing of mages. They would look on a powerful mage as a threat.” He looked down at his desk. “They would see a powerful mage that had proven so well-disciplined and motivated as to do what you’ve done without blood magic as a nightmare waiting to happen.”

Daylen leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk. “Oh, crap.” He rested his head in his hands. “I didn’t even consider that.”

“You didn’t have many options, I must admit,” Eamon replied. “But had you been less…competent at your job, we may not have this potential problem.”

“So, what, I should have let the darkspawn kill everyone?” Daylen asked defensively. “I did my best because the alternative wasn’t allowed.”

“And we’re alive because of it. But you may want to lay low for a while.” Eamon stood, pouring them each a snifter of brandy. “You can’t change the fact that you’re a mage, and many people who would rather mages remain things to be feared would feel further threatened by any good you do and would use any bad you do as ammunition against both mages, the Wardens, and the king.”

“What do you suggest?” Daylen asked sarcastically. “Take a long vacation to Antiva? Run starkers through the Denerim Chantry during a service? Sleep with Ceorlic’s wife?” The Arl coughed out a mouthful of alcohol, giving him a mock glare that was undermined by the mad twitching of the man’s beard as he fought back laughter.

“Nothing so drastic,” Eamon replied, wiping his mouth with a kerchief. “But you may wish to lessen your public presence. Warden business, dealing with darkspawn cleanup, some such nonsense.”

“That’s not actually far from the truth,” Daylen admitted. “We’ve got an awful lot of information and materials the Wardens need lying around.” He sipped the brandy, pursing his lips. “Oh, that’s smooth. Antivan?”

“Orlesian, actually,” Eamon admitted. “My brother-in-law owns the company that makes it.”

“Should get a case,” Daylen said. “Anyway. I’ll be headed to Soldier’s Peak to see how the renovations are going. After that, I’ll probably wind up returning to Denerim temporarily before going to Amaranthine.”

“What would bring you back here?” Eamon asked.

“Picking up some equipment for the Wardens in Amaranthine,” Daylen explained. “It won’t be ready until I get back, so I might as well take it myself. As much as I’d like to task Wade with making me a suit of armor from the Archdemon’s corpse, walking around in tainted materials all day might not be great for public safety.”[1]

“Not to mention Wade’s health,” Eamon said.

“Right!” Daylen agreed with a smile. “Regardless, we gathered as much information and possibly useful materials from the Archdemon’s corpse as possible. Fort Drakon’s roof may not be habitable for a while, but we can only do so much.”

Alistair entered, having shed his armor. “Oh, boy, that was a lot of work for such nonsense,” he groaned.

“Ah, good to see you,” Eamon said. “How did you like your first social function as king?”

“The food wasn’t bad, but these people have such petty concerns considering that we’re trying to recover from a Blight,” Alistair sighed, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “What are you two talking about?”

“We’ve been planning,” Eamon replied. “I understand your Antivan friend intends to remain in Denerim for a time.”

Alistair nodded. “He does. I’ve talked with him, and after he finishes training some of our troops, I plan on sending him to Vigil’s Keep. I’m sure your Wardens could use the instruction and services of a professional assassin with duelist training.”

“I’m not sure Vigil’s Keep is the place for that,” Daylen said. “Well, maybe  _a_ place, but not the definitive location.”

Alistair quirked an eyebrow. “If not there, where?”

“I was thinking Soldier’s Peak,” Daylen replied. “A Warden stronghold, used as a training and research facility. And, Maker forbid, containment for dangerous artifacts if we run across any. I’d need your help with making it workable, as those tunnels aren’t going to be big enough to move supplies through in large amounts.”

Alistair hesitated. “We’re still working on rebuilding most of the rest of the country,” he said uneasily. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to funnel your way.”

“The Wardens are owed an awful lot of tithes, Alistair,” Daylen said quietly. “I realize the country is in a bit of a financial hole, and Amaranthine will give us the resources to live off of, but we need some start-up capital, and credit where credit is due.”

“Very punny,” Alistair grumbled. “Fine. I’ll see about extending a line of credit to the Wardens.”

“Thank you,” Daylen said. “I do have quite a few plans for the Wardens.”

“Like what?”

“Well, first off, I think you should take a dose of that potion Avernus worked up.” Alistair blanched. “I know, his work was reprehensible, and he’s nuts. But the results…even if you never use the abilities it gives you, it’ll help you control the Taint in your body. Might stave off your Calling a bit longer, and if anyone needs that, it’s you. You had a lot of exposure to the Taint during the Blight, and Ferelden needs its king.”

“We’ll see,” Alistair allowed. “Anything else you want to worry me with?”

“Plenty,” Daylen grinned. “I want to see what we can do about reclaiming a few thaigs. Maybe Aeducan Thaig, although I remember reading about some old dwarven fortress being under Ferelden. Kul-Bashas or something. And I also remember a dwarven thaig being near Amaranthine, that’ll be a good place to start. We’d have to set up overland routes between Orzammar and the thaigs, since Maker knows we can’t clear the Deep Roads properly, but considering that Bhelen seems more than happy to buck tradition, he can get the job done. Have some dwarves move in, Ferelden and the Wardens get in good with Bhelen and get the trade revenue. It’d help you get the country out of this hole, and would help the dwarves as well. And be good training for Wardens, they’d be the vanguard on this. You’d be the one to do the legal legwork and most of the paperwork, so good news for me there. I also want to contact the Dalish we worked with during the Blight, I heard they were in this area. I also heard that Clan Sabrae was still in Ferelden, although finding them would be easier said than done. It’s possible that they may have left the country, though.”

“If I know you, you can just punch things until answers start coming out,” Alistair chuckled.

Daylen grinned at the memory, before continuing. “I’m sure some of the Dalish might like to join the Wardens after hearing what we did and how one of their clans contributed, and I know a handful were tainted during the Blight and survived the Joining.”

“Yes, they’ll be sent to Soldier’s Peak to be part of your new training cadre,” Alistair said.

“Right, along with the handful of dwarves and humans we had who made it through their emergency Joining,” Daylen agreed, sighing. “Damn. So many died in that. Twenty out of thirty candidates dead. There has to be a better way. Maybe Avernus can come up with something.” He shook his head. “Besides the dwarves and Dalish, I’d like to recruit a few mages. Some from Kinloch Hold, ones who aren’t all that skittish about working with a blood mage or two, although that might be difficult after the little incident we helped clear up. The big one is I’d like to put out the call for any hedge mages who would like a refuge and a community to learn in. They’d have to become Grey Wardens, but they wouldn’t be hunted by Templars.”

Alistair gave him a skeptical look. “You really think they’d come in like that?”

“They might think it’s a trap, yes,” Daylen said. Alistair gave him another look. “All right, fine, they’ll probably all think it’s a trap. But all we can do is try. Considering that we had a squad of mages chucking fireballs in Denerim and on the top of Fort Drakon, everyone  _loves_ mages right now. They might go for it, especially because they can’t be arrested by the Chantry if they’re with the Wardens.”

“Tell me, are you planning to have limits on this?” Alistair asked.

“Well, to be honest, yes, quite a few. The only ones using blood magic will be Wardens, and only for research on the Taint and how to use it against darkspawn. Period. Anyone starts summoning demons, I’ll throw them off the mountain myself. I want to train every mage I can get my hands on in healing techniques, Warden or not. Morrigan was useful during the Blight, but until we picked up Wynne, I was the only healer we had. Entropists will focus on using their techniques on darkspawn, not humans. Maybe we can figure out some spell to separate them from the darkspawn group mind, even temporarily.”

“That would take a lot of work,” Alistair pointed out.

Daylen shrugged. “If it works, that would mean we could cause a level of disorganization in the horde that could turn a battle.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re holding something back,” Alistair said.

“Because I am,” Daylen admitted. He looked his friend square in the eye. “I’m going to task the research teams at Soldier’s Peak with finding a cure for the taint.” He paused. “You don’t seem surprised by the fact that I’ve decided to do what’s commonly accepted to be impossible.”

“Should I be?” Alistair asked. “We did that pretty regularly over the past year or so. Survived a battle that wiped out half an army and the rest of our order-”

“Well, yes, but we had help from Flemeth there-”

“I’m not done,” Alistair said. “We cleared a Circle of abominations and demons without Annulling it, saved a village from the undead, sent you into the Fade so you could square off with a demon face-to-face, destroyed a dragon-worshipping cult, found the remains of a long-dead religious figure, used them to perform a literal religious miracle-”

“Alistair-”

“Still not finished,” Alistair sing-songed. “We ended a centuries-old curse, found not one, but two lost dwarven Paragons, killed one and watched the other end his life, destroyed an ancient dwarven artifact,”

“But-”

“SILEEEEENCE!” Alistair roared. Daylen was stifling giggles, and Alistair grinned. “Sorry. I’m almost done. We reclaimed a fortress from the demons occupying it, killed about ten thousand darkspawn, at least fifty demons, several dragons, an abomination famed in legend, ended a civil war, and killed an archdemon. And lived. With nothing but whatever we could borrow, loot, or steal and nobody but whatever lunatics joined up along the way to back us up.”

There was a moment’s pause. “Are you done?”

Alistair thought a moment. “Oh. And we worked with the Antivan Crows for a while.” He winked at his friend. “Now I’m done.”

Daylen rolled his eyes as he considered what Alistair had said for a moment. “When you put it like that, it’s amazing we even made it out of Lothering, considering we barely knew which end of the sword was which.”

“Exactly,” Alistair said. “So forgive me if I’m less than shocked at your latest impossible goal that I have no doubt you’ll achieve. Frankly, if the Wardens set you up against an Archdemon with nothing but your smallclothes and a sharp stick, I’d bet that you would be the last one standing.”

“Well, if we can find another Archdemon, we can test that,” Daylen mused.

“You think it can be done?” Alistair asked.

“I think it’s worth a try,” Daylen said. “I mean, I killed one Archdemon, wouldn’t be out of the question to go for-”

“Not that, you prat,” Alistair said, laughing for the first time Daylen had seen since before the Landsmeet. “I meant curing the Taint.”

“Not like we don’t both have a personal interest in seeing it done,” Daylen muttered. “Besides the whole ‘not dying horribly’ thing, you do need an heir. And I have plans that are going to take some serious work.”

“Then it’s time you started,” Alistair murmured.

—AOTG—

“What’s your plan?” Zevran asked, leaning on the edge of the desk.

“You’ll see,” Daylen said with a grin.

“Warden,” Valendrian said cautiously as he entered the room. “I am here, representing my people.”

Daylen’s smile dimmed slightly. “I had asked to see all the elves that I had freed.”

“You must understand,” Valendrian replied, “a group of elves that large walking through the city would be…unwelcome.”

Translation: the people would have started trouble. Daylen nodded, his smile gone. “Understood. My apologies, Valendrian, I had not considered that.” He stroked his beard for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. “Oh! Please, sit down.” Clearly confused, the elven elder sat down in the offered chair. “Can I offer you some wine? Ale, maybe?”

“Um…” Valendrian blinked. “Wine?” Zevran poured a glass for the elf, and Valendrian sipped the wine, baffled at the courtesy he was being shown. “May I ask what this is about?”

“Yes, I suppose we should get to business, at that,” Daylen admitted. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. Mages aren’t treated all that well in the Circle, but I used to think that we lived in pretty poor conditions.” He paused for a moment. “Then I saw the alienage. Valendrian, I am truly sorry your people are forced to live like that.”

“It is what it is,” Valendrian replied.

“Yes, but what if it didn’t have to be?” Daylen said. “What if your people had another option?”

Valendrian’s eyes narrowed. “What are you offering?”

“An opportunity,” Daylen said. “I’m pretty much the sole remaining active Grey Warden in Ferelden. We’re going to need to rebuild.”

“You’re looking for recruits?”

“Well, yes, but that’s only part of it,” Daylen replied. “I need workers. Alienage elves live in squalor, they’re treated like animals. Actually, animals typically get treated betterthan that. I’m offering decent housing, fair treatment, and honest wages – the same wages I would pay a dwarf or a human – to help rebuild Soldier’s Peak in the north, Vigil’s Keep in Amaranthine, and possibly other locations. And if any of them prove capable with weapons, the offer for recruitment into the Wardens is open. I’m also looking for one dedicated recruit to stay in Denerim and act as a liaison between the Wardens and the elves here in the alienage. I have a feeling a human or dwarven representative wouldn’t be as well-received.”

“What’s the catch?” Valendrian asked flatly.

Daylen thought about what he was proposing for a moment. “Well, we’re short on money at the moment. But then, so is most of Ferelden. I’ve got a few investments that should be paying off soon, we’re due some money from Weisshaupt, and I’ve got a line of credit from the Crown, but at the present time I must admit, the Wardens are short on actual hard funds. We have some precious stones that you might be able to exchange. If I could get back to the Circle, I could probably make a few hundred sovereigns, but, if more than a dozen elves take to the idea, right now the best I can do is pay you in food or weapons and armor. We have plenty of the latter. Unfortunately, I doubt a lot of humans would take well to a group of armed elves.”

“Doubtless,” Valendrian replied blandly. “Is there a reason you asked to see the elves you freed from slavery?”

Daylen shrugged. “I had guessed they would be most amenable to working for me.”

The two spent another half hour dickering over prices, payment options, and how to transport a group of elven workers across the country without causing problems. When they had hammered out most of the details, Valendrian excused himself to pitch the idea to the city elves.

“So, I understand you’re going to be sticking around a while longer?” Daylen asked Zevran.

“Alistair has asked me to train some of the army’s specialists,” the elf replied. “And is compensating me generously.”

“Um…Zevran?” Daylen said. “Are you really one to be educating anyone on assassination techniques? I mean, you were sent to go assassinate two Wardens. Instead, you joined up with them and protected them against other people trying to kill them. You could not have gotten that more wrong if you tried.”

“You wound me with your words, my friend,” Zevran cried with mock indignation. “I was charmed by your unrelenting charisma and raw sex appeal.”

“I wounded you with magic, but I healed you after,” Daylen joked. “And what can I say, I can’t turn this off. Everyone wants a piece.”

“Oh, but I have had a piece,” Zevran all but purred, stepping into Daylen’s personal space. “And I would like more.”

“Don’t get greedy, mate,” Daylen grinned. “You were very persuasive.”

“I could be again,” Zevran offered. Daylen’s face fell, and Zevran’s grin faltered slightly. “Unless…ah, I see. Morrigan?” Daylen nodded, and Zevran took a step back, his hands clasped behind his back. “I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to cause you pain. Outside the bedroom.”

Daylen smiled faintly, and he nodded, accepting his friend’s apology. “It’s not your fault, Zev.”

—AOTG—

 “Ah, Wade, good to see you again,” Daylen said warmly.

“Oh, not you again,” Herren snarled.

“Hush, Herren,” Wade admonished. “He brings interesting things!”

“Relax, Herren,” Daylen said. “I’m here with an offer. I understand that your customer base has...shrunk, both with the end of the Blight and with the business you lost while Wade was working on my dragonhide armor. Well, I’m here to fix that. Should you accept it, your stock will be the major supplier of high-end armor to the king’s army for the foreseeable future, and you will be a major supplier of armor to the Ferelden Grey Wardens and will have tangent business in the arling of Amaranthine. You’d have to negotiate the costs with a representative of the Crown, mind you, but he’s right outside, and those are the basic details I was given. They sent me in first because I know you two.”

Herren’s eyes were alight at the thought of so much coin coming in. “Wade, what do you-”

“Yes,” Wade said bluntly. “Provided he keeps bringing me interesting materials.”

“You would have access to the best materials the Crown can find, plus whatever goodies I come across,” Daylen promised. “Now, are you interested?”

“I’ll go sort things out with the representative right now,” Herren said gleefully.

—AOTG—

It took two weeks to wrap up business in Denerim and get some larger-scale plans in motion. In a wagon full of construction materials, the journey to Soldier’s Peak took days, but as Daylen emerged from the tunnels, he saw signs of the Dryden family’s renovations. The massive fortress already looked better, broken glass replaced with new windows, rotted or broken timber replaced with raw lumber, and fresh stone in place of damaged blocks.

Levi was shouting orders, directing people milling around the courtyard. The Warden whistled to catch his attention, and the trader turned, a grin spreading across his face. “Welcome back, Warden!”

“Good to see you, Levi. The Peak already looks better.”

Levi nodded proudly. “As you can see, we’ve been busy. Cleaned the place up a bit. We’ve a big family, and when you were away we all pitched in. Even my brother, Mikhael, came out of hiding. Never will you find a finer smith.” Daylen momentarily entertained the idea of getting Wade and this new smith into a competition, before Levi continued talking. “Also got some goods stored here that might interest you or your Wardens.”

“I don’t have many Wardens yet,” Daylen replied. “We had a lot of recruits after the Battle of Denerim, you understand, and they’ll be coming here for training, along with several combat experts. I expect you’ll have a great deal of business coming in soon, as well as some for Mikhael. I also expect some more material for the renovations to be heading your way soon, along with some elves I recruited to do the work. Got a wagonload full of fresh timber and stone for you here.”

“That’s good news,” Levi said. “We’ve got lots of hands here, but the Peak is massive, and there are lots of basements. We haven’t even cracked open some of them yet.”

“Did you tell your family about Sophia?”

“I thought about it. But I figured it’s not a bad thing to believe you came from a line of lions,” Levi admitted. “Even if the truth is a touch more complicated. Our family’s belief that we were wronged…it gave us strength to make something of ourselves.”

“And what do you think of Sophia?” Daylen asked.

“King Arland sounded like a right nasty piece of work,” Levi said. “Sophia was branded a traitor, she consorted with blood mages. But in spite of it all, I think she was a hero.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree,” Daylen replied. “She stood up against tyranny. Any trouble with Avernus or Jowan?”

“Jowan’s a good man, doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty and pitching in with the work,” Levi said. “He’s down in one of the basements now, helping clean it out. And Avernus? Haven’t heard a peep from him. Seems to like keeping to himself. But I keep telling the children to stay away from the tower.”

“Can you walk me around the place?”

There hadn’t been much left at the Peak. The Wardens had been starved out, after all. Old tools and linens were rusted or rotted beyond use, but there was a great deal of usable space. Barracks could be filled with new beds, still rooms and storage spaces could be stocked with food and ale, and the keep itself was already weather-proofed once again. The Drydens had stored their trading goods in a pair of smaller storage spaces, and a lean man Daylen assumed was Mikhael had laid claim to the smithy.

“There were lots of rats and other vermin about once the demons left, but one of my cousins brought a cat along,” Levi explained. “She’s having the time of her life hunting them as we plug up the holes.”

There were spaces for gardens for herbs or vegetables, as well as what looked to be a weathered monument with the names of fallen Wardens etched into it. A large urn sat nearby, made of burnished silverite. At Daylen’s questioning look, Levi nodded. “We laid the bodies to rest here, Warden. Mikhael forged the urn on the spot and we put the ashes of Sophia and her men together. Arland’s men got a separate urn off near the gate, overlooking the mountains.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Daylen admitted. “Good job, Levi.”

“There is one other matter that Mikhael wanted to talk to you about, but I’ll let him explain,” Levi said. “I’d best get back to work.”

Daylen found the smith sorting through bundles of ore, muttering under his breath as he evaluated them. He looked up as Daylen approached. “You? You’re the Warden? My family owes you. Any weapons I make, I will sell you for a discount.”

“You’re Levi’s brother?” Daylen asked. “Not much of a family resemblance.”

“I have a family full of traders living a soft life,” Mikhael said scornfully. “Getting fat. I chose to learn the way of metal and stone. It keeps me strong.”

“You’re a weaponsmith, then?”

“Indeed. I have spent my life studying steel, dragonbone, and more. I learned all that I could in human lands, and exiled dwarves taught me more. Give me the finest metals and materials, and I can make wonders for you. I understand that in your travels, you found a strange metal in a crater, and you left it here.” Daylen nodded. “It is star metal. With it, I can craft you a thing of legend.”

“How much will it cost?” Daylen asked.

Mikhael shook his head. “Nothing. My family owes you much.”

“A star-metal longsword sounds perfect.”

“And so it shall be…” Mikhael took a few measurements to fit the blade to Daylen’s build, stoking the forge. “When you return, this blade shall be ready.”

“I look forward to it, Mikhael. There will be more Wardens coming, so I imagine you will be very busy and very wealthy in the coming weeks.”

—AOTG—

Daylen returned to Denerim with a wagon heavily loaded with granite hewn from the area around the Peak, tapped for use in repairs to the city. The convoy with the trainee Wardens had been sent to Soldier’s Peak, along with several trainers.

Checking in with Eamon and Alistair at the palace, Daylen received word that the Orlesian Wardens Clarel had seconded to his command had arrived at Vigil’s Keep.

“Good news, that,” Daylen said. “Perhaps they can start narrowing down the holes the darkspawn are hiding in.”

“We’ve found you a recruit, too,” Alistair replied. “She’s already trained, so we sent her ahead to Vigil’s Keep.”

Daylen paused. “And you didn’t think I might want a say on whether she should join the Grey Wardens or not?”

Alistair shrugged. “If you don’t think she’s good enough, fold her into the guard there.”

Eamon broke in. “Ser Mhairi is a veteran of Ostagar and distinguished herself during the Battle of Denerim. She has been well-trained in combat tactics and survival.”

Daylen grunted noncommittally. “I suppose we’ll see how she does when I get to Amaranthine. Any other news?”

“A few items of note,” Eamon said. “Turns out Lady Cousland’s brother Fergus is still among the living. He was wounded before the Battle of Ostagar and taken in by the Chasind. He has returned to Highever to rebuild. Lady Cousland will almost certainly be appointed as the teyrna of Gwaren, for her service during the Blight. My brother is running Redcliffe in my stead. Also, your companions have departed Denerim. The elf went with the recruits, Sister Leliana is checking in with various Revered Mothers, and Enchanter Wynne has left with your golem Shale and your Qunari ally on a boat headed north.”

“About what I expected,” Daylen sighed. “Well, I had best get moving out, while there’s still daylight.”

—AOTG—

Covering the distance to Vigil’s Keep took the better part of a week as Daylen stopped to take out various small bands of darkspawn.

The sun was setting as Daylen checked his map again, making sure he was close to Vigil’s Keep. Around the next bend in the road, a woman waited, wearing heavy chainmail and armed with a sword and shield. A Grey Warden-issue helmet sat next to her, and she stood as Daylen pulled the wagon to a halt. “I suppose you’re Mhairi?”

“Yes, ser!” the warrior came to attention. “Warden-Recruit Mhairi, reporting, Warden-Commander!”

Daylen waved her off. “At ease, Mhairi. Hop in, we’re wasting daylight.” The warrior clambered into the wagon, her mail clinking, and Daylen got the wagon moving again, scratching at his robes. The Warden-issued robes hadn’t quite settled in properly. “I’ve never been much for pomp or discipline. Snappy salutes don’t do much against darkspawn.”

“I…yes, ser.”

“Call me Daylen. I’m no knight.”

“Sorry. I was a knight in the king’s service until I was recruited, but I haven’t taken my Joining yet. I volunteered to join the Wardens and was sent here a week ago. I’ve been working under the Orlesian Wardens here, and the seneschal sent me to escort you in.”

“The seneschal’s in charge?” Daylen asked.

Mhairi nodded. “His name is Varel. A good man, if a bit gruff. He is the king’s steward, I believe, working for the Wardens.” She looked Daylen over. “If I might ask, ser – er, Daylen – you are a mage, correct?”

“Yes, I am,” Daylen replied slowly. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no, of course not,” Mhairi said quickly. “But you bear a sword and shield and wear armor.”

Daylen raised an eyebrow. “You’re observant. The robes usually keep people from noticing I’ve got armor on. I learned how to fight with steel from my companions during the Blight. I prefer to use magic, but on more than one occasion I’ve needed to get up close and personal with an enemy.” He reached back into the wagon, pulling his staff up slightly so it stuck out of the wagon. “I carry both, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

Daylen chuckled sheepishly. “My weapons don’t tend to last long. I went through something like four staves and three blades during the Blight. These are just basic Warden-issue gear, but I’m hoping to scrounge up something better soon.” He frowned as the Keep came into view. “Uh-oh.”

“What is it?” Mhairi asked. “Wait, there was supposed to be a welcoming party…”

“I’m sensing darkspawn,” Daylen replied, pulling the wagon to a stop and grabbing his staff. “Come on, something’s gone wrong.”

Fires were burning around the outside of the keep, and a man ran screaming from a trio of genlocks as they dismounted. Daylen barked an order for the man to stand firm, before sweeping low and freezing the genlocks solid. The trio set to work smashing the darkspawn, and Daylen looked the man over as he continued smashing a mace into the dead genlock until Daylen whistled.

“It’s you!” The man said. “The Hero of Ferelden! Oh, thank the Maker!”

“The Keep is under attack,” Daylen replied, focusing on the issue. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know! They came out of nowhere! All I heard were screams and people dying. I got out as fast as I could and ran into these…” he looked down at the genlock whose head he had mashed into paste. “You need to help them. You need to do something!”

“What’s your name?”

“N-Nolan, ser.”

“Nolan, I need you to hold at the gate and collect any survivors,” Daylen instructed. “Can you do that?” The man nodded shakily, and Daylen clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Mhairi, fall in.”

As they pushed towards the gate, Nolan hung back a few steps, trying to catch his breath. “The darkspawn launched a sneak attack,” Daylen muttered. “That’s unheard of. Something’s not right.”

More darkspawn were waiting inside the main gate, falling quickly to a fireball and a few follow-up spells from Daylen as he began layering on defensive spells. Two soldiers were fighting three times their number in hurlocks, and Mhairi and Daylen joined the fight, ripping into the darkspawn. Daylen spotted an ogre charging and cast a strong ice spell, freezing it solid before it could blindside one of the soldiers. The man gutted the hurlock he was fighting, before turning and flinching as he found the frozen ogre snarling in his face.

“Head to the front gate,” Daylen ordered as the ogre shattered under their combined assault. “Regroup there.”

A terrified merchant nearly fell to another group of darkspawn fighting with nothing but his fists before Daylen and Mhairi cut them down. Pushing past the inner gate, the two rescued another handful of soldiers who were defending a makeshift hospital. Daylen ached to stop and help the wounded, but at one soldier’s request he made a quick trip across the inner courtyard and recovered a large pack full of healing herbs, bandages, and tinctures.

The entrance hall of the Keep was empty save several corpses, the portcullis at the other end of the hall shut tightly. The sounds of battle still echoed through the halls, and Daylen paused long enough to douse a fire with magic before shaking his head. “The Wardens should be mounting a better defense. It’s literally impossible for them to be surprised by darkspawn.”

“I agree,” Mhairi said, her voice quavering. “Where are they all? For the darkspawn to have ambushed the keep so effectively – I didn’t know they were capable of such a thing!”

“Pull yourself together, recruit,” Daylen snapped. Mhairi was pale, but nodded, taking a firmer grip on her sword. Daylen glared at her a moment longer, and the recruit flinched when the Warden-Commander lashed out, a bolt of lightning leaving his hand and spearing a shriek that was about to blindside her. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure where that thing was until then.” The warrior glanced between Daylen’s outstretched hand and the dead darkspawn, before shaking herself.

One of the doors out of the hall was tightly locked, and another blocked by the portcullis, so the pair cut through the only other door. Beyond it, they found a single mage casually incinerating a hurlock, the smoldering corpse falling atop a pile of its fellows. He calmly shook the remaining heat from his hands, before turning and pausing as he noticed Daylen and Mhairi.

“Er…I didn’t do it,” he offered lamely. The man was tall, blond, and remarkably uninjured considering there were a dozen dead darkspawn on the floor – along with several dead Templars, Daylen noted. His robes were Tevinter-made, judging from the style, and his shaggy hair was tied back in a ponytail. “Hey, I recognize you from the Circle. I know what they’ve been saying about me, but this? Not my doing.” Daylen knelt next to one of the dead Templars, recognizing the wounds made by darkspawn weaponry. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not broken up about them dying, to be perfectly honest. Biff there made the funniest gurgle when he went down.”

“Not going to find me grieving over these tossers,” Daylen replied. “You killed these darkspawn yourself?”

“Of course,” he said. “Well, they helped. A little. Before they tragically died. I am Anders, at your service – mage and wanted apostate.”

Daylen’s eyes narrowed as Mhairi gasped. “An apostate? At Vigil’s Keep?”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t here when we arrived. I’m sure I would have remembered such a lovely woman as yourself.”

“Wait,” Daylen said, pointing at Anders. “I  _do_ know you! You were the one who was always making the escape attempts. You jumped in the lake and swam across, and three Templars sank trying to follow you!” He grinned. “That was hilarious, by the way.”

“And  _you_ were the teacher’s pet who Irving could never shut up about,” Anders sniffed. "Heard you wrecked the grade curves, too."

“Hey, now, that’s not  _my_ fault,” Daylen defended. “What brings you here? I’d have thought you’d be in Rivain by now.”

“We were just stopping here on our way back to the tower. Just a short rest, they said, and now they’re dead. Such a shame.” 

“I realize your first instinct might be to make a break for it,” Daylen said, “but I could use your help here. There’s a lot of darkspawn about.”

“Then you have it,” Anders replied immediately.

“Are you sure about this, Commander?” Mhairi asked quietly.

“I can’t say I’m fond of these darkspawn, even though I’m no Grey Warden. Let’s deal with them now, and we can discuss what comes later…well, later.”

“Fall in and stick close,” Daylen said, tossing Anders his staff and drawing his longsword. “There’s work to do.”

With Daylen’s Warden abilities guiding them, they cleared out several more rooms, fighting their way deeper into the Keep. Survivors were fighting desperately with whatever they could get their hands on, and Anders displayed an impressive, almost instinctual grasp of healing as he trailed behind Mhairi and Daylen. Mhairi’s form with a blade was rigidly disciplined, her motions tightly controlled and giving the darkspawn no opening to exploit.

By comparison, Daylen’s fighting was haphazard and loose, parrying and striking roughly with his sword and casting freely with his other hand, freezing darkspawn or paralyzing them with bursts of lightning to create an opportunity for a killing strike.

A door took them outside the Keep along a string of battlements, a ballista on a swivel mount coming in handy when a cluster of darkspawn emerged from the other end of the platform. Daylen chuckled as the bolt tore through the creatures, before whistling to his companions.

The door took them back inside the keep, on the other side of the entrance hall. Mhairi tugged the lever before Daylen could stop her, and several darkspawn ran into the hall.

“Oh, we’re scared now,” a dark-skinned dwarf called sarcastically from the opposite side of the hall. “Don’t come over here! Ha!” The darkspawn charged, and a massive explosion blossomed under their feet, knocking Daylen flat on his back. The dwarf cackled as Daylen’s head spun, and the Warden-Commander pushed himself to his feet, rubbing the afterimage from his eyes. “It’ll take more than that to kill us, beasties,” the dwarf shouted. “Come again if you dare!”

“How many lunatics are there in this place?” Daylen asked as he helped Mhairi and Anders up.

Deeper inside the Keep, they found the most organized resistance they had seen since arriving – a single heavily armed and armored dwarf who was busily cutting live darkspawn into small, easy-to-carry pieces. The Warden-Commander paused as he recognized the technique, before the dwarf turned, spotting him and waving happily before catching the last hurlock in the crotch with his axe.

“Oh, he’s still here,” Mhairi said quietly.

“Ah-ha! There you are!” Oghren cheered. “When these darkspawn showed up, I thought ‘just you wait until the new Commander gets here and you’ll all be spitting teeth out of your arses!’ Followed the screaming, and sure enough, here you are. Good on ya!”

“Not that I’m objecting to the presence of an armed and angry dwarf warrior when there’s this many darkspawn around,” Daylen said, pulling off his helmet, “but what exactly are you doing here?”

“I came here thinking I might try my hand at becoming a bona fide Grey Warden,” Oghren replied. “Looks like you could use the help.”

“He was here when I left,” Mhairi sighed. “I can’t believe the Wardens didn’t kick him out.”

Oghren looked over, clearly recognizing her. “Hey, if it isn’t the recruit with the great rack!”

Privately, Daylen agreed with the dwarf’s assessment, but he’d never admit it. Oghren leaned against a pillar, grinning through the blood splattered on his armor and face.

“Yes, a prize for the Wardens, to be sure,” Mhairi said dryly.

“I know, I know, too good to be true, right?” Oghren continued. “Who’s the mage? Boyfriend? Should I leave you two alone?”

“You talking to me or her?” Daylen asked.

“Wow, a dwarf that smells like a brewery,” Anders chimed in. “You never see that anywhere.”

“Huh,” Oghren replied. “A mage comedian. Thought those normally died young.”

“Oi!” Daylen objected. “I’m as much of a wise-arse as they come!” He grinned. “It’s good to see you, mate.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Anders said.

“As do I,” Mhairi added.

“I think what you’ll find hardest to believe about Oghren is how he hasn’t killed all the darkspawn by himself, yet,” Daylen replied. “Oghren. Why are you here?”

The dwarf sighed. “Fine. It was that look you had after Denerim. That poleaxed, lost-bronto look on your face. I had that same look after Branka left me. And I had it until you showed up in Orzammar. When I saw it, I swore that as soon as I could, I’d track you down and do you the same favor you did me.”

Daylen swallowed hard, before turning around and jamming his helmet back onto his head. “Let’s go break some darkspawn spines.”

Oghren barked out a laugh. “Right! Got to introduce some darkspawn arses to my foot. Only polite thing to do!”

“Really?” Anders asked. “The dwarf? You fought with _him_?”

“Look, Oghren’s a rather smelly one, and more than a bit crude,” Daylen admitted. “However. He’s no Andrastian, but I believe that once every so often, the Maker reaches down from wherever he’s watching this depraved play, points at an infant boy, and declares ‘this one shall have balls of pure silverite.’”

The apostate raised an eyebrow. “And that was Oghren?”

“No. That was the guy Oghren kicked the shite out of before we went and ended the Blight together. When Alistair and I were on the top of Fort Drakon arm-wrestling the Archdemon, Oghren led the defense of the front gate of Denerim. He kept an entire horde at bay.”

“And where was Loghain in that mess?” Mhairi asked quietly.

“Marshaling the forces inside the city,” Daylen explained. “Watching Oghren’s rear. Which wasn’t exactly a safe place to be, for more than one reason. Fair warning – don’t stand behind him too long. Not just because he’s gassy – that backswing of his is _murder_.”

With Oghren’s heavy battleaxe clearing the way, the darkspawn had about as much chance as a squirrel against a dragon. The quartet moved room by room, cutting the darkspawn to pieces. Anders hung back slightly more, using his spirit magic to boost the group’s offense as Mhairi and Daylen flanked Oghren, lunging in and striking at disorganized darkspawn between the dwarf’s sweeping blows.

Farther along, they found another soldier, this one wearing similar mail to Mhairi. It would have been identical armor, but the new man’s armor was soaked in blood, and his innards could clearly be seen through a rent in the mail. Daylen thought he was dead at first, until the man’s head lolled to one side, his eyes half-focused. “Mhairi?”

“Rowland!” the warrior fell to her knees next to the man. “Commander, Rowland was a knight recruited from Denerim, like me. We must do something for him!”

“He looks beyond healing magic,” Anders said quietly. “Maybe a shot of whiskey for the pain?”

“I like the way you think,” Oghren chuckled.

“Stop joking!” Mhairi snapped. “This isn’t funny!”

Rowland looked over at Daylen. “The commander?”

The Warden-Commander knelt next to the man, sending a pulse of healing magic into him to keep him conscious. “I’m here, Rowland. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“We had only a moment’s warning before they were on us, Commander," Roland gasped. "The seneschal ordered a counter-attack, but they came out of nowhere. There’s one with them, a darkspawn who talks, his magic is powerful.”

“A talking darkspawn?” Oghren asked. “The lad must be delirious.”

Rowland groaned. “There’s something in my blood! It hurts!”

“Hold yourself together, Rowland,” Daylen urged as he inspected the man more closely, pumping another minor dose of healing magic into him to ease his pain. “He’s not going to die,” he announced after a minute’s perusal.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Rowland rasped. “I am ready for this. I do not fear death.”

“That’s a nice perspective to take on things,” Daylen replied, tugging his gauntlets off and cracking his knuckles. “But you’re going to live.”

“Beg pardon?” Mhairi looked up at him. “How can you say that, looking at this?”

“Like this,” Daylen declared, grimacing as he slid his hand into Rowland’s wound up to the wrist. The man’s eyes widened, but the injury had been numbed by Daylen’s magic. “Mhairi, Oghren, a little cover if you please. I’m going to have to heal this from the inside out, and that might take a while. Anders, if you want to look after his other wounds?” The sound of Mhairi retching filled the hallway, and Daylen nodded. “You think this looks disgusting, try having your hand in a man’s gut.” Azure light flared around his palm, visible through the man’s flesh and clothing, and Rowland gasped.

Healing the injury took far longer than Daylen would have liked, but when the wound closed, Rowland coughed out a pained breath and Daylen rubbed at his hand, scrubbing off the drying blood. “Feel better?” Daylen asked, offering a hand.

The recruit stood unsteadily, a fresh fire in his eyes. “Warden-Commander, I am in your debt.”

“No, you’re not. Ask Oghren. Wardens take care of our own.” Daylen could feel the Taint in the man’s veins and winced, passing over his sword to the man. “Keep our flanks covered.” He downed a lyrium potion, feeling fresh mana surging.

The group emerged onto a higher tier of the battlements, and Daylen signaled to his companions to pause. “There’s another darkspawn ahead. A strong one. Be ready.”

There were two men against several darkspawn, one man an unarmed soldier who was casually shoved off the battlements by the darkspawn leader, and the other a greying man in heavy mail on his knees with a sword to his neck.

Then the darkspawn in charge talked. Intelligibly, no less. “It has ended just as he foretold,” the darkspawn rasped, turning to the prisoner. “Be taking this one, gently. We are wishing no more death than is necessary.”

“Necessary?” The prisoner growled. “As if your kind has ever done anything else!”

The darkspawn leaned closer to the man. “You are thinking you know of our kind, human? It is understandable. But that will soon be changed.”

The prisoner snarled at him. “Others will come, creature. They will stop you!”

“I’m going to have to ask you to stop,” Daylen called. The darkspawn leader turned, its face painted with some sort of tribal markings.

“It seems your words be true, more than you are guessing,” the darkspawn said to the prisoner.

“It _is_ talking,” Anders murmured.

“Well, let’s shut it up already,” Oghren growled.

“Capture the Grey Warden,” the talking darkspawn ordered. “The others, they may be-” He grunted as Daylen’s stonefist spell caught him in the chest, sending him flying off the battlements much like he had done to the unarmed soldier. Anders froze the darkspawn holding the sword on the prisoner, and the five of them set on the few remaining darkspawn. It was over in moments, and the man stood shakily, rubbing his throat.

“Commander, I owe you my life.”

“I’m just sorry I didn’t arrive sooner,” Daylen said. “The Keep is clear, for now, but I can sense more darkspawn about. Let’s head to the infirmary, there’s a lot of wounded.”

The makeshift hospital was filled with badly injured men, blood trickling freely from some wounds as medics rushed back and forth. The Warden-Commander checked the list Clarel had provided against the dead that had been found, finding the names of several Wardens whose bodies were still missing.

Daylen looked around the infirmary and took a deep breath. “Yeah, everyone just hold still a minute.” Pressing two fingers to his forehead, Daylen sent out a massive, sustained wave of healing magic. All across the makeshift hospital, flesh knitted, bones realigned, and blood flowed properly through mended veins. Another pulse, and men stood from their cots, pulling blood-stained gauze away from wounds that were no longer there.

“Maker’s breath,” the herbalist said. “That was amazing.”

“And _that_ ,” Daylen said, sagging to one side, “is why you have a mage on staff.” He looked to the herbalist as he fished another lyrium potion out of his bandolier. “Have those three men,” he pointed them out, “come and see me. They’ll need a follow-up examination.” He spotted Anders giving him a skeptical look and shook his head as the Wardens left the infirmary. “Those three are now Tainted. They’ll need to undergo the Joining or they’ll die.”

“What do you think their chances are?” Anders asked.

“My Joining had two out of three die,” Daylen replied. “I’m hoping to do better here.”

“Warden-Commander, there are soldiers on the road,” the greying man warned. “It seems we have more company.”

“Would be just my luck that reinforcements arrive _after_ the battle is over,” Daylen muttered, leaning on his staff, watching as the group came close. “Oh, bugger me, that's the royal entourage.”

“Oh?” Oghren asked. “The pike twirler's coming?”

“You know it,” Daylen replied. “Anders, you may want to hide. They may have Templars, and the last thing I want is someone catching wind of an apostate who was found with a bunch of dead Templars.”

“Good idea,” Anders said. “Um…where do I hide?”

Daylen sighed. “Never mind, they're here.”

The group closed in on them, and Daylen knelt briefly in deference, crossing his arms over his chest.

Alistair looked him up and down, stonefaced. “You got  _fat_.” Daylen raised a single eyebrow, glancing down at Alistair's midriff, his face equally blank. There was a few moments’ pause as Mhairi looked aghast at Alistair's words, before the king's façade broke, and he burst out laughing as he extended a hand to his old friend. “It's good to see you, Daylen.” Daylen clasped hands with him, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Looks like I arrived a bit late,” he said, looking around the courtyard. “Too bad. I rather miss the whole darkspawn-killing thing.” [1]

“Well I'm sure we could rustle up a few more for you to take a swing at, if you'd like,” Daylen offered.

The king laughed, shaking his head. “No, thanks, I'll leave them to you. I'd wanted to give the Wardens a formal welcome, but I certainly didn't expect…this. What's the situation?”

“Darkspawn somehow invaded the Keep,” Daylen reported. “I'm guessing either tunnels or a Deep Roads entrance below. There wasn't much damage to the gates, and I'm hoping nobody was stupid enough to open the door to a hurlock. There's stragglers around still, I know that much.” He gave Alistair a pointed look, and the King nodded his agreement. “But the majority are dead. The Orlesian Wardens that Clarel sent are dead or missing. She's going to be pissed about that.”

“Missing? As in taken by the darkspawn? Do they even do that?” Alistair's eyes widened. “Maker, don't tell me that the missing Wardens are female.”

Daylen shook his head. “No, we checked that against the roster supplied. That was my first guess. No new broodmothers today.” His face fell. “I think that they may have fought to the death for that exact reason.”

“What darkspawn remained have fled, your Majesty,” the greying man broke in. “I know only that we cannot account for all the Wardens.”

“What about the recruits you had?”

“They were sent to Soldier's Peak, remember?” Daylen said. “Unless Avernus did something nuttier than usual, they should all be fine. No time to send for them, though. And there's business to be done. We need to talk. Privately.”

“Inside, then,” Alistair said. “At least the Hero of Ferelden is still here, and alive. That’s something, right?”

“Looks like you’ll need to rejoin the Wardens after all,” Daylen quipped.

“Toss the throne aside, spend my time adventuring at your side just like old times?” The king scratched his chin as they entered the Keep. “Very tempting. Really, I’d like to help you fight darkspawn, but you’re on your own for the moment.”

Once they were securely situated in what Daylen was told were to be his quarters, Alistair claimed one of the chairs and sat down, his armor creaking. Anders, Oghren, Mhairi, and Rowland were standing off to the side, watching silently. Daylen and the other man each grabbed one of the remaining chairs. “Alright, Daylen, talk to me. I haven't seen you this shaken up since we left to find Branka.”

“Alistair, the hurlock in charge of the attack?  _It spoke_. As in, spoke in our language. It was capable of at least some sentient thought.”

Alistair paled. “Daylen, please tell me you're making this up.”

“I wish I was,” Daylen admitted. “You or I could deal with ten or even twenty times our number in darkspawn. They're idiots, it helps when they charge into your spells and your steel. But if they're capable of tactical thinking and giving and taking orders? Well, that's a whole new battle.”

“I never heard of anything like this,” Alistair said, “but…”

“But you were only a Warden for six months before I got recruited, right,” Daylen finished. “Not a whole lot of time for the yearly conference in there.” Alistair met Daylen’s eyes, and without even speaking, both knew the other was thinking of the only possible new factor – the soul of an Old God riding around in an unborn child. “I need you to send a messenger to Soldier's Peak, and have some of those recruits sent out. Some of them have language skills, I know that. Warn the Warden-Commanders in every country that we've found a sodding  _talking darkspawn_. If they have any information, we need it, and soon. Weisshaupt would have reports on this.”

“I'll designate some men to go immediately,” Alistair agreed. “I know as well as you do how fast this could go bad.”

“And how bad it could go,” Daylen said. “I also need workers. I haven’t seen much of it yet, but the Keep looks to be in sorry shape. Some of the crew from Soldier’s Peak would help. I also need some of the recruits from Soldier's Peak, the ones who have excelled, to come to Amaranthine as soon as their trainers feel they're ready. I had thirty Wardens here waiting for me. Now I've got twenty-two corpses and eight missing Wardens. Have them bring samples of Avernus’s potion with them.”

“You've got two recruits right here,” Oghren grunted. “I came here to join the Grey Wardens, and from the looks of it, you could use the extra hands! Where's the giant cup? I'll gargle and spit!”

“You're not allowed to spit,” Daylen said. “You're supposed to…” he winced as Oghren started talking again, realizing what he had said.

“Heh. That's what I always say!”

“I suppose all are welcome in this dire time,” Mhairi said delicately.

There was a hurried knocking at the door, before a Templar burst in. “King Alistair! Your Majesty, beware! This man is a dangerous criminal!”

Alistair looked more confused than alarmed. “Well, the dwarf's a bit of an arse, but he's harmless,” he replied. “Unless you're a darkspawn or a bottle of alcohol, really.”

“She means me,” Anders sighed.

“Him?” Daylen asked. “What'd he do, besides set a record for escapes from the Circle?”

The Templar huffed. “This is an apostate who was being brought back to the Circle to face justice!”

“Oh, please,” Anders scoffed. “The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble. I'll just escape again, anyhow.”

“Never!” The Templar growled, slashing a hand through the air. “I will see you hanged for what you've done here, murderer!”

Daylen raised a hand. “Beg pardon. _What_? The only beings he's murdered have been darkspawn. And if you want to penalize him for that, you’re mad as a hatter.”

“The Templars who were charged with his capture and return to the Circle! If they still lived, he would not be walking around free!”

“I examined the bodies of that escort myself,” Daylen said tiredly. “Those men were not killed by magic. Every one of them had wounds from darkspawn weapons.”

“And you are an expert on this?” The woman said skeptically.

Daylen blinked. “Um…yes? I'm the Warden-Commander. I spent most of the last year fighting darkspawn. Believe me when I saw that I know what a wound from a darkspawn blade looks like. If it makes you feel better, those Templars are probably the only reason that the Keep wasn't entirely in darkspawn hands by the time I arrived.”

“I should expect that one mage would defend another,” the Templar sneered. “Especially one with a history of helping maleficarum escape justice.”

Daylen's face hardened. “Watch yourself, Templar. You happen to be speaking to an Arl  _and_ someone who kills Archdemons for a living.” He turned to Anders. “I take it you would rather not go back to the Circle.”

“Seven escape attempts would give that impression, yes,” Anders said dryly.

Daylen snorted. “Fair enough. Would you like to join the Wardens?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Daylen rocked a hand back and forth. “Sort of, but not a great one.”

Anders shrugged. “Sure. Let's join the Wardens.”

Daylen nodded gleefully. “Right then! Your Majesty, Ser whoever you are, I hereby conscript this mage into the Grey Wardens.”

The Templar’s eyes bugged out. “What? Never!”

“No, not never,” Daylen said. “Now.  Toddle on back to the Chantry and look up the Grey Warden Treaty of Divine 1:15, and you will see for yourself that anyone, man or woman, peasant or king, dwarf, human, or elf, can be conscripted. The Qunari don't recognize it, but that's not really pertinent. What _is_ pertinent is that the Right of Conscription supersedes  _every_ other claim on an individual, outweighing those of family, prince, or Chantry. Keep it up and I'll conscript you as well. Would like to see how you do against an enemy that can fight back and isn't scared of Templar armor.”

“I would rather die than join your mismatched band of outlaws and mercenaries.”

Daylen's face hardened. “I’ll thank you to watch your _fucking_ tone. I realize that joining those who actually did something during the Blight offends your delicate sensibilities, but if you could take a moment to remove your head from your arse, you’d realize that the men and women who followed me did so not out of greed, or loyalty, or even a desire for glory, but because they saw a problem and felt they could fix it. They did more to help the people of Ferelden than you or any of your ilk ever could, and I won't have someone who’s never drawn against anything more frightening than a scared child speak poorly of my companions.”

“You watch yourself, boy,” the woman began, crooking a finger at Daylen.

“You're speaking to an Arl!” Daylen barked. “Show some respect!” The Templar snarled, but fell silent. “Talk to me that way again, or show any further disrespect to those who fought with me, and there _will_ be blows exchanged.”

She snorted disdainfully. “Really. A Templar against a mage. I wonder how _that_ would go.”[3]

Daylen gave her what was technically a smile. The expression was more commonly found on sharks. “Go ahead. Find out.”

“If I might interject?” Alistair coughed. “Ser Rylock, this is out of our hands. After all, once someone has been conscripted, we can't say or do anything about it. It's the Warden-Commander’s prerogative.” He subtly winked at Daylen, who nodded in thanks. “He is a Warden recruit now, and Arl Amell's responsibility. If he is a maleficar, then I'm  _sure_ that the Warden-Commander will do the right thing.”

Rylock's shoulders slumped. “If…if your Majesty feels it is best.” She nodded to the king, before leaving the room, shutting the door just a little too hard behind her.

“Me?” Anders asked incredulously. “A Grey Warden? Oh, sure, that'll work well.”

“Sorry to back you into a corner and conscript you like that,” Daylen said. “But it was that or see you executed for something that wasn't your fault.” He frowned, recalling Duncan saying something to that effect what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Congratulations, ser mage,” Mhairi said warmly. “I look forward to fighting at your side.”

“Look on the bright side, Anders,” Daylen shrugged. “Mages aren't feared in the Wardens. They're respected.”

“So, thrown anyone off a cliff lately?” Alistair asked.

“I tossed a hurlock off the battlements earlier,” Daylen replied, scratching his beard. “You want to volunteer?”

“Once was enough,” the king said.

Mhairi was aghast. “You  _threw the king off a cliff_?”

Daylen rolled his eyes. “Once, all right? Once! And he wasn’t the king then!”

“So you’ve got five possible Wardens, and a questionably-safe Keep to base from,” Alistair mused. “We brought some resources and coin for use by the Wardens.”

“I believe the estate has been secured,” the man whose name Daylen still didn’t know chimed in. “We have suffered great losses, but the darkspawn are gone and there are survivors.”

“They aren’t gone,” Daylen insisted. “I can still sense them. And I never caught your name.”

The man blanched. “Oh. I see. Excuse me, Commander. I am Varel, seneschal of Vigil’s Keep. And I am most grateful for your timely rescue, Commander. I will aid you in ruling the lands of Amaranthine.”

“There’s a lot of work to do,” Daylen said. “We’ll need to conduct the Joining soon.”

Alistair nodded. “I agree. The security of Ferelden relies on the Grey Wardens now, even weakened as the order is. It will be up to you to deal with the vestiges of the Blight before the situation grows out of control. No easy task, but I’m confident you’re up to it.”

—AOTG—

 _The Old Gods_  
Dumat, the Dragon of Silence.  
Zazikel, the Dragon of Chaos.  
Toth, the Dragon of Fire.  
Andoral, the Dragon of Slaves.  
Urthemiel, the Dragon of Beauty.  
Razikale, the Dragon of Mystery.  
Lusacan, the Dragon of Night.

_There were seven Old Gods, great winged dragons that were said to rule over the ancient world. The Chantry maintains that they are responsible for the original sin, that they turned humanity away from its true creator through deceit. Humanity’s faith faltered, and thus the Maker turned away from the world--but not before trapping the Old Gods in eternal prisons beneath the earth as punishment._

_Scholars assume that the Old Gods must indeed have been real at one point, but most agree that they were likely actual dragons--ancient high dragons of a magnitude not known today, and impressive enough to frighten ancient peoples into worshipping them. Some even claim that these dragons slumber as a form of hibernation, not as a result of the Maker’s wrath._

_Regardless of the truth, legend maintains that even from their underground prisons, the Old Gods were able to whisper into the minds of men. The Archon Thalsian, first of the Magisters, who claimed to have contacted the Old God Dumat, used the blood magic Dumat taught to him to attain incredible power in Tevinter and declare himself the ruler of an Empire. In return, he established the first temples worshipping the Old Gods, and the dragons became equated everywhere with imperial power._

_To date, four of the Old Gods are said to have risen as corrupted archdemons: Dumat, the first and most powerful, was slain at the Battle of Silent Fields. Zazikel fell at the Battle of Starkhaven, Toth died at the Battle of Hunter Fell, and Andoral was felled by Garahel, the legendary Grey Warden, at the Battle of Ayesleigh. The archdemons have been identified only after years of argument among scholars, and to this day it is unclear whether the archdemons were truly Old Gods and not simply dragons. All that is known is that the darkspawn hunt for them deep underground. If they are truly the Old Gods, as many scholars believe, then we have only three Blights remaining. When all the Old Gods have risen and been slain, however, what will happen? Will the Blights end forever, and humanity earn forgiveness from the Maker at last? We shall see._

_\--From The Old Gods Rise Again by Sister Mary, Chantry scholar, 8:50 Blessed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1Yeah, I'm calling out every single Dragon Age fanfic that involves Archdemon-whatever armor. [ return to text ]
> 
> 2Game of Thrones [ return to text ]
> 
> 3Go ahead, lady, make his day! [ return to text ]


	3. Taking Stock of the Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daylen finds out what a mess he's been handed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The First Warden  
The nominal leader of our order is the First Warden, but you can expect little assistance or guidance so far from the Anderfels. Even those close to Weisshaupt learn to suffer alone. The murmurs are true--the First Warden is often embroiled in the politics of the Anderfels and has little opportunity to consider worldly matters. I would like to believe it is a matter of survival, not of political self-interest._

_Know that your mission is vital. You carry the hopes of our order. If the highest among us holds noble titles outside of the Anderfels, perhaps we will be better situated when the next Blight comes, as we all know it must._

_\--A confidential report for the Warden-Commander_

—AOTG—

The royal entourage had departed, moving ahead to Amaranthine and relative safety despite the darkness. Survivors had been collected and calmed, and the disposal of bodies, both darkspawn and otherwise, was underway.

Daylen and his recruits were in the courtyard of Vigil’s Keep, surveying the damage to the walls and the buildings inside the walls but outside the Keep itself. “Those walls are going to be a pain to fix,” the Warden-Commander muttered. “And wood clearly is not going to suffice. That ogre tore through the wall like it wasn’t even there.” He frowned. “But it looks like the ogre was going _out_ , not in…”

“Planning?” Oghren asked.

“Trying to,” Daylen replied. “This is not good. If the darkspawn could attack like that, we’ll need better defenses. This tiered courtyard is a good idea, but clearly it’s not enough.” He shook his head. “But that can wait. So, recruits, you’ve survived your first battle against the darkspawn. Or at least everyone but Oghren has, he’s fought more darkspawn than a lot of Wardens have. How do you feel?”

“Ready for more,” Mhairi said proudly.

“I am…still amazed to be alive,” Rowland admitted. “But I stand ready to fight.”

“I’m always ready,” Oghren snorted. “You know that.”

“I’m ready too, I suppose. So, a Grey Warden?” Anders sighed. “It could be worse.”

“It's an adjustment, but it brings protection and a certain level of respect,” Daylen said, pausing. “Or you can walk away now.”

Mhairi blanched. “Commander?”

“Really?” Anders perked up. “Just…walk away?”

Daylen nodded. “You can walk away. Keep running from the Chantry on your own terms. We'll give you some provisions and some coin and you can be on your own.”

The healer's face clouded. “Why are you offering me this?”

“Because I wasn't given a choice,” Daylen said. “I didn't get to join. I was conscripted. And had I had any place else to go, I might have made a break for it. But you have a different opportunity. You have several options. They're all terrible, but you have them. You can take this chance, or you can walk away, keep running on your own and looking for whatever it is that you're looking for.”

“And if I stay?”

“Joining the Grey Wardens is not a life I would wish on anyone. You are very much signing your life away. You can leave the Wardens, but you never stop being one. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it's the best way I can describe it. It isn't grand, or glorious, or even pleasant. Almost nobody outside the Wardens will ever know what you've done for them. That's the true cruelty of it. Eventually, you'll die, and most likely nobody will ever even know your name.” He paused a moment. “I mean, we all die, happens to everyone eventually, but being a Grey Warden is just about the most dangerous career around, short of ‘professional noose tester.’ And from the first day, you _will_ be risking your life. Just Joining the Wardens will be dangerous – many recruits die at that point alone. There are risks at every point. Oghren knows this, he's seen the lifestyle we lead and he's taken part in it.”

Oghren snorted, scratching under his armor. “Aye, that's true. Doesn’t scare me, though.”

“I wouldn't expect it to scare a man who headbutted an ogre in the crotch,” Daylen replied. Anders glanced at the dwarf incredulously, but Oghren just grinned at the memory. “And Anders, it's less of a problem for us – we live rather...interesting lives as it is. But it's not something I think anyone would sign up for if they knew everything about it.”

Anders wavered. “What are you offering me?”

“I'm offering you a life,” Daylen said. “A life of mystery, and misery. Of loneliness and adventure. More than that, I'm offering you an opportunity to make a difference, and to save the world every week. Are you in?”[1]

Anders rolled his eyes. “Very dramatic. What's in it for me?”

“Freedom, of a sort,” Daylen replied bluntly. “If we can secure your phylactery through legal or less-than-legal means, we'll destroy it. A room of your own with a proper bed, your own bookshelves, and a lock on the door that works from the inside. Pay, clothes, food. Friendship, respect, and support. And the chance to use your powers without some berk with a flaming sword on his chest trying to kill you for it. But if you’re in, you’re in.” He jerked his head at the others. “Let the man decide. I'll send word to the guardhouse to issue you some provisions if you choose to leave.”

Daylen glanced over his shoulder as Anders followed them in, not bothering to hide his smile.

Daylen, Varel, and the recruits gathered in the throne room of Vigil’s Keep, the Warden mixing the Joining potion according to the recipe that had been provided by the visiting Warden-Commanders. There was plenty of fresh darkspawn blood about, and Daylen had paused long enough to take some of the foul liquid from the dead ogre before they entered the Keep.

Finally, the potion was ready, and Daylen poured some into the chalice recovered from Ostagar. “Before we perform the Joining, I want you to know, there’s a very good chance you’ll all die,” he said. “I have faith in the four of you, but you could all very well end up dead.”

“Is it too late to opt out?” Anders asked faintly.

“Yes,” Daylen said flatly. “But if you survive, you’ll not only be out of the reach of the Chantry – _forever_ – but you’ll also be immune to some of the deadliest creatures in Thedas. My predecessor selected people who already possessed great skill and strength. His insistence on doing that meant Ferelden only had two dozen Wardens when the Blight started. The Grey Wardens don’t usually provide you with extra training. The Joining _is_ your test. It’s a simple test, pass or fail. You survive, you pass. You fail, you die. We’re going to do things differently from now on. From this moment on, you are all Grey Wardens. You’re going to take the Joining, and if you survive, you’ll be trained in combat until the only thing that can stand against you is a blasted Archdemon. If you’re here, you have already been judged as worthy of joining the Grey Wardens. Some people might tell you that Wardens are a symbol, an ideal, standing in the shadows to protect the light against the encroaching dark. There’s an element of truth in that, but I’ll lay it out for you as plainly as I can. The Grey Wardens are the first, last, and best line of defense for the world against the darkspawn. It’s a thankless job. If you’re lucky, you’ll die on the end of some darkspawn’s blade in the Deep Roads. But the alternative is everyone dying on the end of some darkspawn’s blade up here on the surface. So we do what we have to do.”

He cleared his throat and picked up the chalice. “The time has come to begin the Joining. I shall speak the words that have been said since the first. Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you.” He held the chalice out to Oghren. “From this moment forth, Oghren, you are a Grey Warden.”

The dwarf took the chalice, looking down at it disdainfully. “What’s this? The sampler size? Are you trying to say something about my height, eh?”

“Er…this is the goblet we’ve always used,” Varel said uncomfortably.

“Really? Huh.” Oghren drank deeply from the goblet, and Daylen paled as the dwarf chugged, before the dwarf handed it back to him, smacking his lips and belching. “Not bad.” Slowly, his head lolled to one side, and he crumpled to the floor.

Varel sighed as Oghren began snoring. “Maker help us all.”

“I would give my right bollock to have ten more of him,” Daylen replied with a shrug, before turning to Anders. “From this moment forth, Anders, you are a Grey Warden.”

“So we need to drink darkspawn blood?” Anders asked. “That’s it?”

“You take the Taint into yourself, surviving it and gaining the ability to sense the darkspawn,” Daylen explained. “There’s more to it, but I can’t explain that until you drink.”

The mage shrugged and took the chalice. “Well, all right, but if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes and a tattoo on my forehead, I’m blaming you.” Daylen flinched slightly at the reference to the Rite of Tranquility as the mage drank.

Varel stood behind the man, catching him as he collapsed. “He lives, Commander, and will awaken in time.”

“Two for two so far,” Daylen murmured, turning to Mhairi. “From this moment forth, Mhairi, you are a Grey Warden.”

“I have awaited this moment,” the warrior said eagerly, drinking the potion and handing the chalice back.

Then the woman doubled up, coughing and choking as she fell to the floor. Rowland turned her over. “Please, help her!”

“She is beyond help,” Daylen said softly. “I wish there was something that could be done.”

Rowland held the woman as she twitched violently before falling still. “Maker take you into His arms, Mhairi.”

“I had hoped,” Daylen sighed. “I had hoped she would survive.”

“She knew the risks,” Rowland replied, gently closing Mhairi’s eyes. “Give me the chalice.” He drank without pausing, his mouth set in a firm line.

For a brief moment, Daylen was worried that he would die as well, but the man collapsed, falling back into Varel’s arms. “He lives as well, Commander,” the seneschal reported.

“I had hoped we could do better, but it is what it is.” Daylen took the unconscious soldier from Varel, hoisting him over his shoulders. “Help me get them to the barracks for now. We’ll mete out particular rooms as we get more Wardens. I want to be there when they wake up. Please, organize a funeral with honors for Mhairi. She was a Warden, Joining or not. Conduct the Joining for the three men who have been Tainted.”

“It shall be done, Commander.”

—AOTG—

Daylen wasn’t surprised when Oghren woke up first, the dwarf very shocked at the new experience of dreaming. Anders woke soon afterwards, catapulting awake and looking around as Daylen nudged a bucket closer to him. The mage retched, emptying his stomach into the bucket. By the time he was finished, Rowland had awakened and was filling a bucket of his own. Daylen passed Anders a waterskin, the mage rinsing out his mouth and spitting into the bucket.

Oghren gasped. “You scoundrel, is that brandy?”

Anders lowered the skin. “Oh no, just water.”

“Water?” Oghren said. “Oh, I never touch the stuff. Fish fuck in it.” Daylen nudged his shoulder, passing him a bottle of whiskey, and the dwarf took a deep gulp. “Where’s the other one?”[2]

“She didn’t make it,” Daylen replied somberly.

Oghren grimaced. "That's a shame. She was a good kid."

Rowland looked up as Anders held out the skin, taking it gratefully. The Warden-Commander watched the soldier carefully, unable to determine whether the man was relieved or disappointed to still be alive. Anders took a grateful pull on the whiskey bottle, but Rowland waved it off.

“All right, Wardens,” Daylen said, sitting on a bunk with the other three around him, “time for the full details of what being a Warden entails.”

“You mean there’s more?” Oghren asked.

“Plenty,” Daylen replied darkly. “Listen up. The good news is you’re now immune to the Taint. The nightmares will subside, although the hunger you’ll be feeling soon is there to stay. You’ll be able to sense darkspawn clearly in a matter of days or weeks, but it’ll be a while yet before you can tell how many or what kind. They can sense you as well, so be careful about that. They’ll never take you by surprise, but launching an ambush won’t be nearly as simple. You’re also going to find yourselves somewhat stronger, more robust, and almost certainly more…virile.” Oghren and Anders grinned at that. “The bad news is you’ve got thirty years or so to live. At that point, traditionally Grey Wardens will go to Orzammar and go on a suicide run against the darkspawn, killing as many of the bastards as possible. More bad news is that you’re far less likely to be able to have kids. Sorry.” Oghren shrugged, but Anders looked relieved. Rowland still seemed unsure. Daylen paused to steel himself before continuing. “The _really_ bad news is that if there is another Blight, Maker forbid, a Grey Warden has to die to kill the Archdemon.”

“How does that figure?” Oghren asked.

“The Archdemon has a soul, most darkspawn do not. Grey Wardens, however, do. When a Grey Warden strikes the killing blow against an Archdemon, the Archdemon’s essence travels into them, killing both the Archdemon and the Warden. Otherwise the Archdemon just hops to the nearest darkspawn and keeps going.”

“No, I mean how does that figure, you still being alive?” the dwarf asked. “You killed the Archdemon. How are you still kicking?”

“I took a third option,” Daylen replied. “But it was a long shot, and I’m not sure what the consequences of that choice will be just yet. Now, this part is important – most of what I’ve just told you is secret, especially the parts about the Archdemon. Only Wardens are supposed to know about this, and for good reason. According to normal protocols, none of you would be told this until later in your service, but since I’m the only active Warden still in Ferelden, you all need to know. Any questions?”

“When do we move out?” Rowland asked.

“There’s time, yet,” Daylen replied. “There’s still plenty to do here, and Varel mentioned that there were reports of darkspawn across the arling, so we’ll see what the highest priority is soon. For the moment, I suggest you all get something to eat, and maybe rest. There are private rooms elsewhere in the Keep – I suggest you each find one that’s in a location you like.”

Varel entered the room as the newly minted Wardens left, and Daylen stood. “Commander. We conducted the Joining with the three men you selected. None survived.” Daylen cursed. “What a waste. Their names will be added to our roll lists, but we should be grateful for what we have. Now that we have more Wardens on hand, there are some other matters that require your attention. Walk with me?” The two headed back towards the throne room, the seneschal talking as they went. “The garrison took a large number of casualties in the attack, including Captain Rullens and much of the senior staff. Ser Garevel is in now charge of the garrison here, although he lacks experience. Many soldiers were deployed, patrolling the roads between the Keep and Amaranthine.”

“We’ll need to recruit and train more troops, then,” Daylen pronounced. “So we’ll have to pay for this somehow.”

“And on that note, there is a woman here sent by the Grey Wardens, Mistress Woolsey. She is here to help run the financial matters in the arling.”

“And the Grey Wardens sent her?” Daylen asked. “There are Grey Warden _accountants_?”

“Someone has to balance the books,” Varel replied with a shrug. Daylen perched uneasily in the throne as two people entered the room, arguing quietly. Varel cleared his throat as they approached. “Garevel. Woolsey. The Commander has had a long day.”

“I’m Daylen Amell, Warden-Commander and the new Arl of Amaranthine,” Daylen said. “What’s the situation?” Garevel opened his mouth and Daylen held up a hand. “I’ve been told about the losses the garrison took. We’ll address that. Mistress Woolsey?”

“Thank you, Commander. Some merchants escaped the darkspawn, including one who claims you saved him personally. They have agreed to stay on for a time, and can provision you and other Wardens for a reasonable fee.”

“The Vigil is yours,” Varel added. “Take whatever weapons and armor you need.”

“I was sent by order of the First Warden at Weisshaupt,” Woolsey continued. “I am to act as treasurer of the arling of Amaranthine. He believed local men could not be trusted for this post.”

“One of those ‘local men’ is right here, Mistress Woolsey,” Varel growled.

“I have every confidence in the Vigil’s loyalty in matter of arms,” Woolsey said delicately. “But gold corrupts even the most resolute soul.”

“And the First Warden has the opportunity to poke his fingers in, even though he was sodding useless during the Blight,” Daylen replied coldly. “Let me guess. Amaranthine being given to the Wardens makes us a test case, giving us the chance to prove that the Wardens are important, Blight or no. Did he at least send the coin I asked for?”

“A large deposit was passed to us by the Orlesian Wardens,” Woolsey explained. “I took the liberty of investing it in the arling’s infrastructure and defense.” Daylen’s face tightened. “Ser, the arling is on the brink of economic collapse. Trade must flow. Merchant caravans are being systematically attacked somewhere along the Pilgrim’s Path. It is the only route that can reliably provision an army, feed a city, and maintain civilization.”

Daylen sighed, but nodded. “Very well. A reasonable decision, but next time let me know _before_ you invest it. Chances are I’ll defer to your expertise, but keep me informed. Short of tasking men we don’t have with escorting the caravans, how do we fix this issue?”

“In the city of Amaranthine, there is a trader, Mervis, whose caravans have been hit particularly hard. He may know where along the road the darkspawn – or whatever they are – are striking.”

“Could be darkspawn, could be bandits, could be a Dalish clan that’s less amenable to humans than the last one I met,” Daylen mused. “We’ll check in with Mervis, find out where they’re being hit. My Wardens and I will take a caravan along the route and find out what’s going on. Any other financial issues?”

“I have brought the standard Warden pay-tables to compensate your troops, pro-rated from the last period,” Woolsey said. Daylen stared at her blankly. “I’ve brought the documents you’ll need to pay your Wardens,” she explained.

The Warden-Commander blinked. “Oh. Excellent. Sorry, I’m used to paying my companions in loot and food. You’ll have to excuse my inexperience with this, I didn’t exactly get much support from the Grey Wardens during the Blight.”

Woolsey ignored the jibe. “When the arling begins to become profitable, we will dispense pay, including any back pay your Wardens are due at that time.”

Daylen nodded. “For the time being we’ll have to make do. Send a messenger to Soldier’s Peak – there should be a great deal of dragonbone equipment there, some of which we could sell. It won’t reinvigorate the economy on its own, but it’s a start.” He began taking notes on a sheet of vellum. “So we’ve got trade caravans under attack, so there’s not enough money or goods to provision the army. There’s not enough of an army to keep order, so we can’t protect the caravans to get the taxes and goods. There’s darkspawn hiding out in caves and mines around the arling, and I’m operating out of a Keep with giant holes in the walls that is supposed to be able to stand up to a darkspawn attack, but clearly is not. I can tell there are still darkspawn around, and – wait, what happened with that dwarf that blew up the entrance hall?”

“Oh, _him_ ,” Garevel sighed. “That’s Dworkin. Dworkin the Mad, some call him. He’s still around, along with his brother, Voldrik. Voldrik’s a stonemason, so if you want to repair the walls, he’s the man to talk to.”

“Right. Anything else?”

“For matters around the Keep itself, there’s Sergeant Maverlies down in the courtyard,” Varel said. “There are, however, a few other matters around the arling itself. Garevel?”

“Where did the darkspawn come from?” Daylen asked before the newly minted captain could speak. “They’re not exactly hard to see coming.”

“I talked with the dwarf Voldrik earlier,” Garevel explained. “It’s his belief – and I concur – that the darkspawn came from the keep itself. The deep cellars go very deep indeed, you see. Voldrik suspects the darkspawn found a hidden route into the keep.”

Daylen stared at him a moment, before cursing quietly. “Varel, you said the Vigil was very old, right? It predates the Tevinter occupation.”

“That’s correct, Commander.”

“I’d bet several sovereigns that there’s a branch of the Deep Roads nearby,” Daylen said. “The dwarves did that a lot – they’d run a path right up to the settlement and establish a trade route. Some settlements even started on top of a Deep Roads exit, that’s how Gwaren came into being. It wouldn’t be very difficult for the darkspawn to dig into the cellars from there.”

“Sergeant Maverlies may have more on this,” Varel said. “She had men securing one of the out-buildings.”

“This is a lot of bad news,” Daylen mused. “We’ve got an arling that’s one good push from falling apart, darkspawn _talking_ , a keep that may have a backdoor for said darkspawn in the basement, and all the Orlesian Wardens are dead. Clarel is going to be _pissed off_ about that.”

Varel coughed. “Actually, Commander, one may yet live. All those not marked as missing in the attack were killed – but one, Kristoff, is still in the field.”

“He went alone?” Daylen asked.

Varel nodded. “He was merely scouting, you see. The Orlesian Wardens were uneasy that the darkspawn weren’t going to ground with the Blight ended. Kristoff was sent to track down some leads, and a fortnight ago, he left in a bustle. As best we can figure, he went to the city, Amaranthine.”

“The man’s been gone for two weeks? Why didn’t anyone go looking for him?” Daylen paused, sighing. “Never mind. Did he reveal anything of what he found?”

“He did, but not to me,” Varel admitted. “The Wardens keep their own counsel.”

“Nobody ever fucking learns,” Daylen groused. “All right, Varel, from now on you’ll have full disclosure on stuff like this. I tend to lead from the front, and that means you’re going to need to know everything that’s going on for when I’m not here. Amaranthine looks like it’ll be our first stop, then, but it isn’t small. How will I find Kristoff?”

“There are only so many places travelers visit,” Varel said. “I’d check the inns and taverns.”

“While you’re there, if you could follow up on something?” Garevel broke in. “The Orlesian Wardens were gathering information while they were here, trying to track down where the darkspawn were coming from. The most promising lead they found was a wild tale a couple of hunters told.”

Daylen shrugged. “If I didn’t chase wild tales, we’d all be dead now. What did the hunters claim?”

“These hunters, Colbert, and…well, the other one…claim to have stumbled across an entrance to the Deep Roads. Darkspawn all over the place, they said. And this was _before_ the fiends appeared throughout the whole arling. The Wardens were just about to send someone to track down Colbert. He and his friend are in the city of Amaranthine, probably amongst the refugees outside the city gate.”

“Those hunters may have found the darkspawn breeding ground,” Daylen realized. “Or _a_ breeding ground, at least. We take that out, we’ll still have to deal with all the darkspawn that are already here, but at least there won’t be more showing up.” He glanced around. “How long have you people been awake? It’s the middle of the night.”

“We’ll be here as long as you need us, Commander,” Varel assured him.

“Very well. I’ll try to wrap this up soon, but then you should all get some sleep. Captain Garevel, do you think some of those refugees would be open to enlisting in the guard? We could house their families in or around the Keep or Amaranthine.”

“I think we might pick up some recruits, yes,” Garevel said slowly. “Many of them would likely turn to crime otherwise.”

Daylen rubbed his eyes. “All right. Make it work, Garevel, we’ve got a lot of spaces to fill. I brought some equipment with me from Denerim, along with some basic construction materials and everything we’ll need to perform the Joining as much as we need to. Varel, Garevel, Woolsey, we need to start repairs on the Keep. Prioritize the defenses, but eventually we’ll need to make this place look a little nicer.” He glanced around. “I don’t mean to insult you, but the place looks a little bare-bones.”

“Arl Howe stripped the arling of most of its valuables and took almost every loyal man with him to Highever and Denerim,” Varel explained. “There was little left. I almost died due to Howe’s machinations.”

The Warden-Commander perked up. “Really?”

“I was briefly seneschal while he was Arl, but my repeated objections to his orders got me demoted,” Varel explained. “When Howe’s behavior became worse, I sheltered those in need that I could. I was arrested for my actions, and would have been executed upon Howe’s return to Amaranthine had he not died in Denerim.” He paused. "I understand you had a hand in that."

Daylen snorted. “You’re welcome. I’m going to check out the courtyard, see if there are any other items of interest. You all get some rest, get a fresh start in the morning.”

—AOTG—

There weren’t nearly enough troops left, Daylen thought as he surveyed the courtyard of Vigil’s Keep. A sergeant was barking orders at a group of men, trying to patch the holes in the wooden outer walls of the Keep. The Warden stroked his beard, getting a better look at the layout of the courtyard now that he wasn’t trying to kill every darkspawn in sight. He could still sense Tainted creatures about, and caught a nearby private’s attention. “Where do I find Sergeant Maverlies?”

“Blimey, Commander of the Grey,” the private marveled for a moment. “Right. She’s over there, the one in charge. Lieutenant Milgrom died when the darkspawn attacked the Keep, and we haven’t got a new one yet.”

“We’re working on that,” Daylen reassured her. “Anything I should know about?”

The private nodded. “A while back, they caught a thief in the Vigil. Took four Wardens to capture him. Gave one of the Wardens a black eye, he did. Half-joking, they said he might make a good recruit.”

“It took _four_ Wardens to nab him?” Daylen asked. “Wow. Where is this thief now?”

“He’s in the jail, ser. Over there.” She pointed at one of the outbuildings. “There’s a proper dungeon under the Keep itself, but it’s in no shape to hold prisoners.”

Daylen groaned. “Maker, is _anything_ in this place in shape?”

The private shrugged. “The privies work.”

The Warden-Commander snorted out a laugh, and the private relaxed slightly. “If you’ve got that, things can’t be too bad. Anything else?”

“I also have some letters addressed to you,” the private said. “Arrived just before you did.”

Daylen skimmed one, a call for help from a nearby family for assistance with the darkspawn. Another he looked over twice, his face hardening as he read the letter. “Thank you, private. When did you come on duty?”

The soldier looked confused. “About an hour ago, ser.”

“Just making sure my troops get proper rest,” Daylen explained, looking up as he tucked the letter away. “You’re no good to me exhausted.”

The private smiled shyly, nodding. “Yes, Commander.” She looked over his shoulder. “Oh, Sergeant Maverlies is free.”

“Right. Best go talk to her.” Daylen caught up with the harried sergeant a few moments later. “Ah, Sergeant Maverlies.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, what are you doing standing around?” the sergeant snapped. “I need every pair of – oh, sweet Maker, you’re the Warden-Commander, aren’t you.” Daylen nodded, and the woman sighed. “My deepest apologies, ser. It’s been a long day.”

Daylen noted darkspawn blood spattered on her armor. “I can see that. You fought the darkspawn when they invaded the Keep?”

Maverlies nodded. “I gathered what survivors I could and mounted a defense deeper in the Keep. I wanted to link up with Captain Rullens, but he was dead by the time we reached him.”

Daylen looked her over a moment longer, before nodding. “Impressive. Not everyone has the ability to keep their head in a situation like that.”

Maverlies shrugged. “I don’t mean to alarm you, Commander, but it’s possible there are still darkspawn in the Vigil.”

“There definitely are,” Daylen replied. “You have an idea where they are?”

“You know Dworkin? That mad dwarf’s bombs shook the whole keep.”

Daylen nodded. “I saw them in action. Nearly knocked my teeth out of my head.”

“Well, some of the deep cellars caved in. I suspect that there are pockets of darkspawn below, trapped. In time, they may dig their way out.”

Daylen winced. “If they dig their way up, they’ll be a problem. If they dig their way _down_ , the darkspawn could use the same route into the Keep they used before. We’ll definitely need to take care of that. I’m good at killing darkspawn, but I’m pants at digging.”

“We have men who can unearth the rubble at your command.”

Daylen nodded. “Do it, sergeant. Task some troops to look after them, in case they break through when I’m not around. Be ready to fall back and fortify a position, just in case they dig up something big.” Maverlies nodded and moved off, issuing orders to her men. The Warden-Commander watched a moment longer, before shrugging and entering the jail.

The guard snapped to attention as Daylen entered. “Ah, Commander! Good thing you’re here.” He turned to the cell as Daylen stepped up alongside him, eyeing the single prisoner. The man in the cell was lean and wiry, long black hair tied back and the beginnings of a rough beard on his face. “This one’s been locked up three nights, now. Good men died while this one was protected in his cell.”

“You’re calling him ‘this one,’” Daylen commented. “You telling me he didn’t even give you a name?”

“All I know is he was caught poking around the estate in the middle of the night. I’d say he was just a thief, but it took four Grey Wardens to capture him. You best be careful. Whoever he is, he’s no ordinary burglar, that’s for sure.”

Daylen grunted. “Leave me to talk with him.”

“As you wish, Commander. His gear is in the chest, over there. I’ll tell the seneschal you came. He’ll want to know what you decide to do with this man.”

Daylen waited until the man left, before opening the chest and examining the man’s equipment. A longbow he recognized as Antivan-made didn’t prove anything, but the leather boots and gauntlets were clearly well-made and worn from use despite obvious care. The cuirass bore no heraldry, and Daylen returned the equipment to the chest before looking to the prisoner. “Understand you haven’t given a name. What brought you here?”

The man stood, walking to the gate. “If it isn’t the great hero, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil,” he sneered. Immediately, Daylen recognized his gait, having seen Leliana walk the same way dozens of times. “Aren’t you supposed to be ten feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?”

“It helps to be unassuming,” Daylen said. “But then, as a burglar, you would know that. I see my reputation precedes me.”

“It does,” he snarled. “I know you best as the one who murdered my father.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people in the past year or so,” Daylen said. “Can you narrow it down?”

The man growled. “I am Nathaniel Howe. My family owned these lands until you showed up. Do you even remember my father?”

“Arl Rendon Howe,” Daylen realized. “Traitor, assassin, would-be regicide, kidnapper, mass murderer, slaver, and rapist. I remember him. But I didn’t kill him. Elissa Cousland did. You came here for revenge, feeling wronged?”

Howe slammed against the bars, pushing his face between them and snarling at Daylen. “My father served the Hero of River Dane and fought against the Orlesians! Yet our family lost _everything_!”

“Your father served a traitor and a regicide and a usurper,” Daylen retorted. “He made his choices and thought he could ignore the consequences. Now I’m left cleaning up his mess. Why are you here?”

“I came here…” Howe paused. “I thought I was going to try to kill you. To lay a trap for you. But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family’s things. It’s all I have left.”

Daylen snorted. “Smart that you didn’t try to kill me. Lots of people have tried, it’s never worked out well for them. Your family has belongings that are still here?”

“We used to live here, once upon a time. Father didn’t take everything with him to Denerim.” Howe sighed. “Look, I know you’re a hero. You fought a war and you won, and to the victor go the spoils, right? Whatever my father did, however, shouldn’t harm my whole family. The Howes are pariahs now, those of us left. And it’s all thanks to you. And now you get to decide _my_ fate. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Daylen grunted. “If I let you go, what will you do?”

The man looked surprised. “If you let me go? I…I don’t know. I only came back to Ferelden a month ago. If you let me go, I’ll probably come back here. You might not catch me next time.”

“Believe me, I’ve got experience with assassins trying to commit suicide by throwing themselves at me,” Daylen replied. “I recruited the last one. You’re not making the best case for yourself.”

“I could lie, if you prefer,” Howe offered. “It would be more convenient for you if you didn’t see me again, right? If you’re going to hang me, hang me. One more death shouldn’t really bother you.”

“Every life I took during the Blight bothered me,” Daylen said flatly. “If I could have spared the people I killed, I would have.” Howe seemed skeptical. “I understand they had trouble capturing you.”

“I am not without skills,” Howe replied testily. “My time abroad wasn’t spent chasing skirts and drinking wine.”

“What skills are those, exactly? Clearly you’re capable in a fight, and that bow has seen some use.”

“Hunting. Scouting. Poisons. Why? What do you care?”

“I care because if you’re going to come back and try to kill me, I should know how you’re going to do it,” Daylen said. “Do you really hate me so much?”

“The darkspawn are a menace. If it weren’t for the Blight, maybe my father would never have…done what he did. But I can’t do anything about them, can I? There’s just you and the Grey Wardens, here in my home.”

“And for that, I am, truly, sorry,” Daylen said softly. “I’ve decided what to do with you.” He opened the door and instructed the guard to get Seneschal Varel.

The man was there within a few minutes, wearing normal clothes as opposed to the mail he had been dressed in before. “I see you’ve spoken to our guest,” Varel said. “Quite the handful, isn’t he? Have you decided what’s to be done with him?”

“Did you know this was Nathaniel Howe?” Daylen asked.

Varel was startled. “A Howe? It figures they would turn up again. The Howes are implacable enemies, Commander.” Daylen rolled his eyes. “What should we do with him?”

The Warden-Commander stared at Nathaniel Howe for a long moment. “Give him his family’s things, and let him go.”

Nathaniel was stunned. “You’re doing _what_?”

Varel was just as surprised. “Commander, that’s…I must object! You want to let a thief keep what he stole?”

“Can’t steal something that belongs to you,” Daylen pointed out. “He’s not his father. At worst, he was trespassing. Let him go. Gently. Through no fault of his own, he’s lost his family’s good name, his home, and just about everything he had left in the world. He’s been through enough. Let him go.”

Varel still looked unsure, but nodded. “Yes, Commander.” He looked to Howe. “You heard the verdict. Come with me, so you can…collect your things.” Howe gathered his equipment from the chest, leaving silently. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Commander,” Varel grumbled as they left.

—AOTG—

Daylen emerged from the jailhouse, noting the horizon beginning to lighten with the impending dawn. Checking in with Sergeant Maverlies, he found that there was still plenty of work to be done on the cave-in. Asking around, he found the Keep’s armory, which was in as bad shape as the rest of the Keep. A handful of silverite weapons had been left by the Orlesian Grey Wardens, but the rest was basic iron equipment that looked to have been rescued from a bargain bin. The equipment Daylen had brought from Denerim was far superior, and he picked out a new sword and staff for himself, before having a messenger wake up the other Wardens. It didn’t take long for them to assemble, pulling their equipment on.

“So there’s an estate near here that’s apparently been suffering attacks from darkspawn,” Daylen explained as they left the Keep in a wagon. “We’re short on soldiers, so we can’t just send a platoon to go secure the place.”

Anders yawned, his blond hair sticking up at odd angles. “Do we have any idea how many darkspawn there are?”

“Well, the fact that they were able to send a letter asking for help means there can’t have been too many,” Daylen replied. “But keep on your toes.”

The sun had fully risen by the time they pulled up to the estate, and Daylen frowned as he spotted smoke rising. “Oh, not good.”

Rowland was squinting at the light. “Is that…am I sensing darkspawn?”

Daylen nodded, drawing his staff. “Come on. Rowland, Oghren, take the lead. Anders, hang back, attack from range.”

Unfortunately, they were too late. The farmers were dead, one strung up from the roof of the farmhouse and the others sprawled across the fields, slaughtered. The Wardens fell upon them in retaliation, ripping the darkspawn apart. More emerged from the woods, and the Warden frowned as he sensed more coming behind them.

The quartet had already slain dozens of darkspawn by the time an ogre showed up, the massive creature easily smacking Rowland aside. Anders knelt next to the fallen warrior as Oghren’s battleaxe bit into the back of the ogre’s leg, and Daylen darted forward, slinging his staff and drawing his sword. Oghren ripped his axe free, cutting open the ogre’s other leg as Daylen leapt, his sword stabbing through the ogre’s sternum and tearing apart its heart. The ogre collapsed, Oghren ducking out of the way as Daylen yanked his sword free and stabbed the ogre up through the jaw.

The Warden-Commander left the sword in place and began slinging spells. “Anders! Is Rowland alive?”

“He’s alive but he’s badly hurt,” Anders called, casting healing spells on the wounded man.

“Daylen, we’re boxed in,” Oghren warned, sweeping a hurlock’s legs out from under it and finishing it with an overhand strike.

“Working on it,” Daylen replied, flinging a fireball. “Eat it, darkspawn!”

Then a figure darted forward from behind the farmhouse, arrows springing from his bow at a prodigious rate. A half-dozen arrows landed in a matter of seconds, and the man grabbed another clutch from his belt quiver, the spare arrows hanging from his drawing hand as he aimed again, letting loose another rapid string of shots. The darkspawn fell in droves as the archer kept firing, snapping the arrows up from his drawing hand and firing them faster than Daylen had ever seen. A lone hurlock archer managed to return fire, only for the man to grab the arrow out of the air and fire it back.

The Wardens took out the last of the darkspawn and Anders helped Rowland back to his feet, the archer watching the dead darkspawn warily. Daylen glanced over at the man, before pausing and taking a harder look. “Howe? Have you been following us?”

“Not exactly,” the man admitted. “I heard the Turnobles were in trouble here and wanted to help. I arrived after you did.”

Daylen grunted. “Well, unfortunately we were both too late. From the looks of things they’ve been dead for half a day.”

“I knew them,” Howe admitted, looking at the bodies. “They were good people.”

“Sorry to hear that. Well, we’d best be going.”

“Wait,” Howe called as Daylen turned to leave. “I want to talk to you.”

“Careful,” Oghren warned. “This one might just go all Zevran on you.”

Daylen shrugged, dropping his mage shields. “I’m listening.”

“You set me free,” Nathaniel said. “Just let me go, despite what I said or what I might do. I want to know why.”

“What you do now is your own responsibility,” Daylen replied. “You’ve done nothing to me, and I have no grudge against you. If you were dumb enough to try to kill me after our last meeting, that’s your problem. But I’m not looking for a fight with you, Howe.”

“Even though I was looking for a fight with you when we met,” Howe scoffed. “Take me with you. Make me a Grey Warden.”

Daylen paused. “Come again? I think the sun was in my ears.”[3]

“I want to join the Grey Wardens,” the archer repeated.

Daylen stared at him a long moment. “It’s not just my saying you’re a Warden, you know. You can die just becoming one.”

“I have nowhere to go,” Howe explained. “I fully expected to die in there. Maybe I even wanted to. But you let me go. Make me a Grey Warden. Let me try. Please.”

“You think this will redeem the Howe name or something?”

“I don’t know,” Howe said irritably. “Maybe that’s not even important. Maybe it’s more important that I do my part to face the darkspawn. Maybe that’s what my father should have done. If it’s the fact that I wanted to kill you that bothers you, then-”

Daylen raised a hand. “Yeah, yeah, that’s not it. The last few people who tried to kill me wound up working for me. I even hit the sheets with one.”

Howe stared at him a moment. “I…what?”

Daylen shrugged. “He was _very_ persuasive. Very well. We’ll see how you do with the Joining.” He tossed the man an empty flask. “Get some darkspawn blood. Fill the flask.”

“In your future, I sense a knife in the back,” Anders warned as Howe filled the flask. “Just saying.”

“So we just let anyone into this outfit, huh?” Oghren asked.

“We’ve got an apostate, a dwarven outcast, and me, who has a list of crimes so long they only hit the high points these days,” Daylen replied. “Frankly, Rowland is the respectable one.”

The knight looked sheepish. “Actually…”

Daylen gasped. “No. Rowland! What’d you do?”

“I…er…I was once part of Bann Ceorlic’s guard,” Rowland explained. “There was this incident with his wife…”

Nobody really understood why the Warden-Commander was on the ground laughing so hard. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Howe admitted.

Eventually, Daylen subsided, shaking his head as he directed the others to gather up the darkspawn corpses. He and Anders ignited them once the bodies were piled up, and a reeking plume of smoke rose from the farm. “So what is involved in the Joining?” Howe asked, retrieving a few arrows.

“It’s a secret,” Daylen replied flatly. “But it’s relatively easy. Just survive. You’ve already proven your ability.”

“I told you I didn’t spend my time drinking and chasing women.”

“You could only chase drinking women and cut out one process,” Daylen said, wiping his sword clean and sheathing it. “It’s an interesting technique. You learn that up in the Marches?”[4]

“A bit,” Nathaniel replied. “Some of it is my own improvements.”

“Whatever it is, it's damned effective,” Daylen mused. “You think you can teach that to other people?”

“People who already have the aptitude with bows, yes,” Nathaniel hesitated. “Not everyone has the dexterity needed.”

“I think we’re done here,” Oghren reported. “Bodies are cleaned up, the ‘spawn are burning. I say we head back to the Vigil for breakfast.”

—AOTG—

“You brought the Howe _back with you_?” Varel asked incredulously. “Commander, I thought you wanted to be rid of him!”

“No, I just said to let him go,” Daylen corrected. “He wants to join the Grey Wardens. He’s proven himself in battle.”

Varel looked unconvinced, but shrugged. “Very well, Commander.”

As Daylen was preparing the Joining potion, a messenger entered the room, saying that Sergeant Maverlies’ workers had broken through to the cellar. The other Wardens and Howe had finished breakfast in the Keep’s mess hall by the time the potion was finished, and Daylen poured a helping into the chalice as they entered the room.

“Few words are spoken at the Joining,” Daylen pronounced, holding the Joining chalice. “Ritual words, spoken at each Joining, spoken since the first. Rowland, as the junior Warden present, would you do the honors?”

Rowland nodded, standing alongside Daylen. “Join us, brother. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you.”

Daylen held out the chalice. “From this moment forth, Nathaniel Howe, you are a Grey Warden.”

The rogue took the chalice, inhaling deeply. “The moment of truth.” Howe drank without reservation, handing it back to Daylen as Varel waited behind him. The man collapsed, falling into Varel’s arms.

“The Howe is stronger than I expected. For better or for worse, he will live.”

“Good.” Daylen signaled to Rowland, and the two men hefted the unconscious Warden onto a couch. “Wardens, head to the armory and get your equipment. We’re going down into the cellars.” They departed, and Daylen turned to his seneschal. “Varel, a few smaller matters. Time for some seneschal-ing.”  Varel nodded, and Daylen began ticking off the items. “First off, I think we should promote Sergeant Maverlies. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders and the troops respect her. Make her a lieutenant. Secondly, the Turnoble estate is now empty. Darkspawn killed them. If there isn’t someone who has a better claim to it, I think we should offer the land to refugees. At least they’ll have some way to support themselves. Third, I realize that the Keep is in bad shape, but we need to start reinforcing the cellars. If the darkspawn attack in force, we need to be able to shelter the people in the farmlands. I know we’re short on funds and workers, but we’ll have to do what we can.”

“We’ll make it work, Commander,” Varel promised.

Howe sat up a few minutes later, his face ashen. “Please tell me I don’t have to do that again.”

Daylen offered him a flask. “Welcome to the Grey Wardens. No, you don’t have to do that again.” He quickly ran through the ups and downs of being a Grey Warden, the rogue listening attentively and asking the odd question to clarify a point. When they finished, Daylen stood, offering a hand. “You ready to take the fight to the darkspawn?”

Nathaniel looked up at him, taking his hand. “I am now.”

“Good. Get to the armory. Get yourself some better equipment. Look for the dragonskin and the white steel daggers.” The man left, and Daylen headed downstairs, the other Wardens falling in behind him as they entered the cellars.

“Here we are,” Maverlies said. “The Vigil goes deep. Real deep. The hallways down here have been crumbling for years and decades. And that blasted Dworkin’s explosives didn’t do the structure any favors.”

“We’re looking into reinforcing it,” Daylen replied, all too aware of the weight over their heads. “If an area looks unstable, reinforce it as best you can, but we’re working on something more permanent. The Vigil’s been around since the Avvars, it’s entirely possible there’s a Deep Roads entrance down there. Would explain how the darkspawn got in.” He drew his staff. “Wardens, time to earn our pay.”

The unblocked basement was filled with Avvar statues, dead darkspawn, and a single injured mabari. The Warden knelt, gently brushing a hand across the dog’s fur. “Easy, girl.” He sent a pulse of healing magic through the dog, the hound’s wounds closing. Her fur was still caked with dirt and blood, but the mabari breathed easier. Reaching into a belt pouch, Daylen retrieved a treat and held it out.

“You carry dog treats?” Nathaniel asked.

“I have a mabari of my own,” Daylen replied. “Helps coax him out of the wardrobe at bathtime.” He found a small scroll bound to the dog’s collar and read it quickly. “A woman named Adria apparently took refuge in the lower levels of the keep.”

Nathaniel stepped forward, looking at the note. “Adria! She was…she was like a mother to me. We _must_ save her.”

“This just became a rescue mission,” Daylen said, standing. “Hey, girl, can you stay here for me?” The dog whined. “Don’t worry, we’ll go find Adria for you.”

The basement sloped down towards a wine cellar, Daylen noting a stairway leading upstairs. More darkspawn, live ones, were waiting inside, and the five Wardens attacked, Daylen and Anders chaining spells together as Oghren and Rowland hacked them apart. Nathaniel’s archery was still astounding, his rate of fire allowing him to use a bow at close range. Oghren stopped long enough to salvage a bottle of fine brandy as Nathaniel retrieved some correspondence between Rendon Howe and one of his lieutenants, looking troubled as he read it.

In the next room, there were almost a dozen ghouls, former prisoners who had been trapped with the darkspawn long enough for the Taint to take deadly effect on them. The Wardens put them out of their misery, and the Warden-Commander shook his head. “I had almost hoped this place didn’t exist. Does every Fereldan noble have a torture chamber under their house?”

Nathaniel blinked. “Most do, yes. Outside of Ferelden it’s not as common, but the banns and arls are essentially the law in their own lands. Criminals sentenced to imprisonment typically do go to their own dungeons, and it’s easier and more practical to set up the torture instruments in the same area.” The man trailed off as he realized that everyone was staring at him.

“Do you realize how horrible that sounds to everyone else?” Daylen asked after a moment.

“Help!” The Wardens turned, spotting three men locked up in one cell, apparently healthy. “Oh, thank the Maker! Please let us out!”

Daylen eyed them, relatively healthy men who were built like warriors. “What are you in for?”

“We were Arl Howe’s men,” one of them said. “Thrown in here for protesting his abuses.”

The Warden-Commander grunted. “Howe is dead. I’m the new arl. You gentlemen want a job?”

“Work for you?” their apparent leader asked. “You’d hire someone who refused to follow orders?”

“If I’m giving orders like Howe, I should hope they wouldn’t be followed,” Daylen replied. “I’m a Grey Warden. You’ve missed a lot.” Gesturing to Nathaniel, the Warden-Commander stepped back. “Head for the surface. See the woman in charge, Sergeant Maverlies. She’ll fill you in. If you want a job, you’re welcome among my troops.” The lock clicked open, and the men nodded gratefully as they made for the exit.

“Why do so many of these people just follow you?” Nathaniel asked.

“Well, having an archdemon-sized notch on my belt is a good way to get people to fall in line,” Daylen said. “As is helping everyone you meet. Build a reputation.” He paused a moment, before tapping the side of his helmet. “The hat helps. I've got a nice hat. You should never underestimate the power of a nice hat. Truth be told, I think it’s mostly because I seem to be the only one capable of getting things done. A lot of people just hand me their problems and then wind up owing me favors.”

Nathaniel snorted, jimmying open the locked door to a side room. “I can believe that. Most nobles I’ve met have been utterly useless.”

“Speaks rather highly of the people I’m supposed to rule over,” Daylen replied. “This place is a mess. Bandits and darkspawn are bleeding the place dry of everything that your father didn’t take to Denerim. The guard captain was a _sergeant_ before I got here. Bloke’s utterly out of his depth. And it doesn’t help that the bleeding castle seems to be one good dropped pan from collapsing in on itself.”

“That batty dwarf’s explosives didn’t help,” Anders commented as they entered the next room. “Oh…my.”

“My mother always forbade us from playing in the cellars,” Nathaniel breathed. “Now I know why.”

“Avvar crypt,” Daylen said, rather unnecessarily. “Wow.” The group promptly set to looting, ripping apart a small pack of animated skeletons that arose when they descended to the second level of the crypt. Several keyholes were visible around the room, and a door leading farther in was locked beyond any of their ability to pick or pry open. “We’ll have them mark this room as unsafe until we can make sure there’s nothing dangerous down here.”

Daylen found a packet of letters between Nathaniel’s sister Delilah and a friend of hers in Denerim that he immediately passed over to the rogue, who looked surprised at the gesture.

The Wardens finally found the missing Adria deeper in the basements, a roughly-hewn tunnel breaching the wall into the cellar. Unfortunately, the woman had been tainted to insanity and attacked them along with several other ghouls. When the last one fell, the group tried to push on, only to encounter a fresh rockfall. The Warden-Commander sent Rowland back up the tunnel to call the workers, who were there shortly afterwards.

“You murdered a slew of darkspawn back there,” Maverlies said, wide-eyed. “I…well, you hear the stories about you and the Wardens, but to see it firsthand?”

“What, the other Wardens didn’t inspire you?” Daylen asked, kneeling and prodding at a pile of rocks in the corner. “Ooh, veridium.”

“Oh, they did too. Even though the attack was a surprise, they killed droves of darkspawn. Just ask the poor maids who have to clean it up. But you…you’re something else.”

“This rockfall’s fresh,” Oghren commented, tapping the flat of his axe against the stone.

“I brought along Master Voldrik,” Maverlies explained, and a dwarf elbowed past her, looking at the tunnel disdainfully.

“So this is how you humans ply your stonecraft?” He snorted. “Disgraceful, that is. Why, this would barely last a few centuries. I wager these passages may go far enough to connect to the Deep Roads.”

“I suspected that as well,” Daylen said. “Only explanation for a surprise attack like that. It’s not that hard to see darkspawn coming.”

“Aye. The Orlesian lads would have had a terrible surprise. Explains how experienced troops like that fell to the darkspawn.”

“We need to seal this off, somehow,” Daylen declared. “Otherwise they’ll just come up this way again.”

“Andraste’s blood,” Maverlies cursed. “There are basement entrances throughout the keep. There’s no way to defend against that.”

“Then we go to them,” Daylen replied.

Voldrik nodded. “Follow the tunnels and hope to find a single point to block off. With the Warden’s muscle and my stonecraft, we’ll find a way.”

“Let me know as soon as you clear the passage, but there’s a room back there that’s not quite clear yet,” Daylen said. “Keep your workers out of there. That mabari up there still around?”

“Yes. Was she stuck down here?” Daylen nodded. “Poor thing. We’ll have the kennelmaster look after her.”

“Let’s get out of here, then.”

When the Wardens emerged, the sun was high in the sky, and Daylen was beginning to feel the lack of sleep pressing. “All right. We found some veridium down there, and…” the mage trailed off, grinning at some new arrivals that were busily setting up in the Keep’s smithy.

“Did we have to come all this way?” One was griping. “It’s cold here. Very cold.”

“It’s not _that_ cold,” the other insisted. “The Wardens have been some of our best customers. And they need us.”

“I miss my shop,” the first whined. “This place is so drab. It offends my sensibilities.”

“Andraste preserve me,” the second sighed.

“Wade! Herren! Welcome!”

Herren pasted a smile on his face. “Warden-Commander! So good to see you! How is your armor holding up?”

“See for yourself,” Daylen said, tugging open his robes. “This armor has saved my life more often than I can count. And my Wardens wear your work as well, Wade. Oghren over there still has the dragonbone plate, Roland is wearing the heavy dragonscale mail, and Nathaniel here has a set of dragonwing leathers.”

“Ah, my one glittering moment,” Wade sighed. “The highlight of my career. And now I’m stuck at Turnip Keep.”

“Vigil’s Keep,” Herren hissed at him. “Vigil! Sorry, Warden-Commander. You know how he gets.”

“Wade, I realize this is a step down for you, but my troops will need armor,” Daylen said.

“Providing arms and armor for common soldiers,” Wade sniffed. “Oh, the indignity! If we are going to be so dreadfully plebian, I don’t suppose Amaranthine has any proper metal? Silverite, veridium? Or are we back to bronze weapons? Stone clubs?”

“Wade has…a point,” Herren admitted. “He’s happiest – and fastest – when presented with a challenge.”

“Well, we found some veridium deposits below the Keep,” Daylen offered.

“And Amaranthine has some iron and silverite mines,” Nathaniel added. “I’m not sure if any are still running, however.”

“Well, we’re going to need the arms and armor to stand up to a large number of the ugly bastards,” Daylen said. “If we can’t find it here, we’ll beg, borrow, or trade for it from elsewhere. We’ll get you what you need, Wade, but fair warning – I plan on finding something _interesting_ for you to do.” The smith’s eyes lit up.

“We can outfit your men with this veridium, it wouldn’t cost you anything, but some soldiers would have to guard the miners.”

“Done,” Daylen said immediately. “You’ll have your guards. My troops need better equipment.”

“Is it really fair to call the darkspawn ugly?” Anders asked as they left. “I mean, sure, they’re awful by our standards, but among darkspawn, that painted one you knocked off the battlements may have been handsome. Maybe he was a hit among the lady darkspawn.”

Oghren snorted. “Believe me, you’d think otherwise if you’d ever seen a female darkspawn.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one,” Anders admitted.

Oghren and Daylen glanced at each other. “Hope that it stays that way,” Daylen said after a moment. “They’re…they’re something else. Something I haven’t had quite enough alcohol or head trauma to forget.”

“Commander!” Daylen turned, spotting Voldrik emerging from the basements. “A word?” He gestured around them. “This is human construction, is it? My brother said you’d need a stonemason, but he didn’t know the half of it.”

“Welcome to the Vigil,” Daylen said dryly. “This is what I was handed. I take it you can do something about it?”

“The darkspawn did a number on this keep of yours, but I suspect it was crumbling well before they showed up. Your seneschal gave me some fancy decree promising men and monies to fix the Vigil, but it’s a paltry sum. I suppose it _would_ be sufficient to reconstruct the walls to human standards. But who’d want that?”

“I might regret this,” Daylen sighed. “What would it take to bring them up to your standard?”

The dwarf considered his answer for a moment. “I’m not certain of the character of the stone in these parts, but we’d need more men for certain. Proper, skilled men, not some starving dusters, right? Which all boils down to coin, really. Counting possible cost overruns and the enchantments we can fold into the stone? Eighty sovereigns.”

“Eighty sovereigns?” Daylen asked. “Haven't paid that much for anything in a long time.” He looked at the damaged walls of the keep again. “Do it.”

“Very generous,” Nathaniel murmured. “Can we afford this?”

“It'll be tight, but we'll manage,” Daylen said. “Besides, it's necessary. If darkspawn come calling again, the life I save with improved walls might be my own.”

“I’ll get it done, Warden. Good luck to anyone who tries to breach the walls when I get done with them. Ha!”

The Wardens surveyed the activity in the courtyard, the breaches in the walls filled in with raw stone or fresh lumber. The result was patchwork, making it clear that if the Keep were to be attacked again, the walls would not hold. Either way, it was better than nothing.

Nathaniel was surprised to find an old groundskeeper still alive and on staff at the Vigil, and even more so to find out that his sister Delilah was also still among the living and in Amaranthine. Daylen agreed to look for her before Nathaniel had even finished asking, and the rogue nodded once in acknowledgement while failing to hide a smile.

A light drizzle was coming down as the Warden-Commander cut across a side courtyard, having checked up on the men-at-arms that made up what was left of the Vigil’s garrison. Morale had improved since news of the Wardens tearing through the packs of darkspawn below the Vigil. The mage stopped as he heard a plaintive meow, a half-soaked tabby taking shelter from the rain under a wagon.

“Hungry, little fella?” Daylen asked, kneeling in front of the cat. The feline mewled again, and Daylen reached out, scratching the cat gently under the chin. Gently picking the animal up, he leaned forward to shelter it from the rain as he headed back inside the Keep. “We could use a good mouser. Hope you don’t mind singing for your supper.”

—AOTG—

The cat was lounging in front of the fireplace in the Vigil’s throne room as the Wardens regrouped, stowing their weaponry and armor. Nathaniel had laid out several large maps on tables around the room, trying to plot out a pattern to the darkspawn attacks. Oghren was stationed near a cask, clearly just as deep in his cups as usual despite the early hour. At one point, the dwarf snapped to alertness to congratulate Nathaniel on having the courage to return to Amaranthine despite knowing he would be entering hostile ground, and promised to have the younger man’s back.

Daylen found Mistress Woolsey frowning as she leafed through page after page of financial documents. “Welcome back, Commander,” she said as Daylen approached. “Pardon me, just trying to find out where to scrounge up some funds.”

“I appreciate your work,” Daylen replied. “Can you do anything to resupply our soldiers?”

“I will do what can be done, but you would be wise to keep alert for trading possibilities in your journeys. If you can persuade any merchants to trade here, it would benefit the Vigil considerably.”

“If I come across any, I’ll talk them into coming here,” Daylen promised.

“Commander,” Varel broke in. “The lords and ladies of Amaranthine have come to swear fealty to you and the Grey Wardens.”

Daylen caught a glimpse of his face in a polished silverite shield mounted on the wall and grimaced. His armor and robes were spattered with darkspawn blood, his hair and beard were messy, and dark circles had shown up under his eyes from lack of sleep. “Oh, this’ll go well.”

“Quite. These were Arl Rendon Howe’s vassals. Now they will be yours.”

“You know the lay of the land, Varel. What do I need to know about them?”

“Some of these lords bore Rendon no love, but others had their prospects ruined with his demise. Tread carefully, Commander.”

—AOTG—

_Mhairi  
“Allow me to say, I'm very proud to serve under your command.”_

_Mhairi was a knight in Fereldan's army until agreeing to join the Grey Wardens. She can think of no greater honor, nor better way to serve the nation, and is eager to undertake the Joining._

_Sadly, Mhairi's enthusiasm did not save her. She perished in the Joining like so many others before her and was laid to rest as a Grey Warden._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always bugged me that you couldn't talk Anders into at least appreciating being a Grey Warden. Sure, at that point he was only out for himself, but you'd think a mage who spent so long struggling for his freedom would appreciate the idea of having something that was his, and that nobody could take away from him.
> 
> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1The Librarians. [ return to text ]
> 
> 2Archer. [ return to text ]
> 
> 3MASH. [ return to text ]
> 
> 4MASH. [ return to text ]


	4. Amaranthine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens head to Amaranthine, and our plot gets underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Vassals and their Liege  
Some kingdoms rigidly define the rights of vassals and their duty to their liege. In Ferelden, a relatively new kingdom, the arls and arlessas theoretically command their arlings' banns and lords. In practice, those lessers often zealously maintain their independence._

_Some Fereldan vassals must be goaded instead of ordered--swayed, not ruled. Vassals owe military obligations to their liege, yet often deny even sworn oaths and signed contracts. In contrast, the vassals expect their liege's protection despite provocation otherwise. A successful Fereldan liege applies force, persuasion, and duplicity in equal measure._

_\--From A Guide to Statecraft, published anonymously_

—AOTG—

Varel addressed the assembled nobles. “Lords and Ladies, I present the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arl of Amaranthine.” Daylen stood in front of them as the nobles bowed respectfully, or at least feigned respect.

“Our differences are many, but our cause is one,” Daylen said, his voice echoing across the hall. “We will protect and build this arling together.”

Varel looked out across the dozen-odd nobles who were in the room. “Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine, as is old custom, you have the honor of beginning.”

The Bann of Amaranthine swore allegiance tonelessly, clearly not interested in loyalty beyond appearances. Daylen remembered Arl Eamon mentioning that according to rumor Esmerelle and Rendon Howe had had a long and torrid affair. As the last noble gave his oath of loyalty, the ceremony broke down into the same type of dignified if essentially meaningless mingling that had made up the aftermath of the coronation.

“Let me know if and when you want the nobles cleared out,” Varel said quietly. “Er…if you want the ceremony to end, I mean.”

Daylen grunted noncommittally. “I should at least talk to each of them. Who do I need to know here? Who’s going to get miffed if I don’t speak to them first?”

“There’s really only two who can offer real support in the war,” Varel explained. “Lord Eddelbrek, master of the Feravel Plains, controls more farmland than anyone else. He’s powerful and popular. Bann Esmerelle rules the city. Wealthiest in the room by far. She may not be loved, but she cannot be ignored.”

“Is that why she’s doing her level best to be an utter bitch to everyone in the room?” Daylen asked quietly.

Varel snorted, trying to disguise the laugh as a sneeze. “Yes, essentially. Her own advancement is her only interest.”

“Sounds familiar,” the Warden-Commander muttered. “Excuse me. I’d best mingle.” Right off the bat, Daylen approached Esmerelle. “Ah, Bann Esmerelle. Wonderful to finally meet you.”

“A pleasure to meet you as well, Commander,” Esmerelle said primly. “Might I ask, how had you heard of me? I know for a fact you never visited Amaranthine during the Blight.”

“Through the late Arl Howe, of course,” Daylen replied, smiling sweetly and bluffing. “His private papers detailed his dealings with you. Riveting stuff, really.” Esmerelle flinched, and Daylen kept smiling. “If you’ll excuse me, I must keep moving.”

“Honored to meet you, Warden-Commander,” Bann Eddelbrek said a few moments later, not bothering to hide his smile at the cheap shot Daylen had taken. “You come to us during desperate times.”

A redheaded noble next to Eddelbrek groaned. “Not more about your precious farms, Eddelbrek.”

Eddelbrek glared at him. “Some in our arling do not have the comfort of city walls. On the plains, the situation is dire!”

“I’m aware of the trade problems, and we’re working on a solution,” Daylen replied. “The people in your bannorn will be taken care of. And of course we’re hunting darkspawn, too.”

“As we feast, the peasants on our land are starving or worse,” Eddelbrek pressed.

“The city’s defenses are more important, Eddelbrek,” the other noble scoffed.

Eddelbrek rolled his eyes. “There may be wheat in the silos now, but if the farmers die, where will you get your food?”

“I can offer a supply of arms and armor for use by a local militia. Professional soldiers take time to train and a great deal of money to maintain, but helping your subjects defend themselves may help lessen the problem,” Daylen said. “In the meantime, I will send the soldiers wherever they are most needed.”

“Then I pray to the Maker that your choices are wise,” Eddelbrek replied.

“I see that Lord Eddelbrek wastes no time in canvassing you for soldiers to defend his farms,” Esmerelle chimed in. “Do not be deceived, Commander, his livelihood is all he cares about. Amaranthine is the jewel of the arling, and she must be protected. A farming hovel can be rebuilt with straw and mud, but Amaranthine was built over generations. If she falls, then this great arling will be diminished.”

“Wealth is well and good,” Eddelbrek snapped. “But what measure do you put to human life? The folk in the country outnumber your city dwellers many times over.”

Daylen sighed. “Frankly, Lady Esmerelle, I think all of us are interested in protecting our livelihoods. That seems to be our jobs, doesn’t it? We won’t leave anyone unprotected. But I will need your help to make it work.”

A bit later, the Warden-Commander noticed a woman standing slightly apart from the nobles, her posture and build indicating a history in military service. Excusing himself from the lesser banns he had been speaking with, the mage approached the knight.

“Warden-Commander,” the woman said, nodding respectfully. “I am Ser Tamra. We’ve all heard so much about you. So many good things, unbelievable things.” She paused, lowering her voice. “But many of your deeds cost people here a chance at great advancement. So many fortunes were deeply intertwined with the old arl. Some nobles here…they seek to end your dominion over them.”

“This much I’ve gathered already,” Daylen muttered. “I think half of them would stick a knife in me given the opportunity. And the other half wouldn’t do it themselves, but they’d probably watch.”

“Perhaps you do not know the full extent of their determination. I’ve had…occasion to intercept some of their missives. They are cryptic things. Any individual message is unintelligible. But together they form a pattern. They mean to end you before you can begin. A deadly coalition.”

“A whole conspiracy to murder me?” Daylen asked. “I’m flattered.”

“I would take this matter seriously, Warden. They know of your capabilities – and they’re spending a fortune to see their aims fulfilled.”

Daylen shrugged. “I recruited the last several people who tried to kill me. These things don’t really bother me much as they probably should.”

Tamra stared at him a moment. “Given a few days, I can retrieve the messages. I would have brought them tonight, but I didn’t know if warning you would be wise. I’ve much to lose and precious little to gain.”

“If your information is legitimate, the Wardens and your Arl will protect you,” Daylen said. “But I would need to see these messages.”

Tamra nodded. “Very well. We will meet again soon.”

A few moments later, Daylen reconvened with his advisors. “So apparently we’re not defending the farmlands?”

“Eddelbrek speaks truly, ser,” Varel admitted. “But things are dire.”

“Things are always dire,” Daylen snapped. “We lose the farms, the people starve. I know Eddelbrek and Esmerelle are arguing over where we should put our soldiers and we don’t have enough men, but we have to do our best to protect them all. The city, the farms, the roads, wherever. I’ve got more Wardens on the way. Hopefully they’ll be able to pick up the extra load as we recruit more soldiers.” Varel and Garevel nodded respectfully, and Daylen pressed on. “Another issue – apparently, there’s a conspiracy against me. A knight called Ser Tamra told me.”

Varel raised an eyebrow. “Do you know the conspirators? The right of high justice is yours, and treachery is a capital offense.”

“She’s bringing some evidence.”

“She’s a sly one, Ser Tamra. But knowledgeable about such things. Better to be a touch paranoid than turning up face down in a ditch. To proceed, we’d need strong proof. And that’ll be hard to gather. There are options, some that I would not recommend.”

“We need to handle this gently,” Daylen said. “Let’s not make more problems than we’d solve.”

“There are rumors of someone called the ‘Dark Wolf’ who finds information for a fee. Dangerous fellow, by all accounts.”

Daylen swallowed hard. “Dark Wolf? I’ve never been involved with that.”

Varel let it pass. “Sort of an infamous figure. Caused a load of trouble to nobles in Denerim. They say he fled to the foreign quarter in Amaranthine to escape royal justice.”

The mage bit his tongue, before nodding. “I’ll see if I can find this Dark Wolf. I’ve spoken to all my vassals, I think it’s time we got back to work.”

“As you wish, Commander.” Varel raised his voice. “Clear the hall! The Commander has business to attend to!”

“Mistress Woolsey, about this conspiracy,” Daylen mused. “They’re apparently spending prodigious amounts of coin to try and eliminate me. Any way you can try and spot a pattern?”

“Possible, but I wouldn’t stake my reputation on it,” Woolsey replied. “I will see if anything turns up, Commander.”

“Good,” Daylen said. “Varel, if you could have a messenger bring up some food for myself and the Wardens, I would appreciate it. We’ll probably be heading back out soon.”

“Something on your mind, Commander?” Nathaniel asked as he emerged from the corner he had been lurking in during the ceremony. Daylen explained his idea, and the rogue looked skeptical.

“We need Wardens, Ferelden-dedicated Wardens, and fast,” Daylen finished. “I'm not seeing a whole slew of other options.”

“That ought to go over well with the King,” Nathaniel remarked.

“Oh, yes, like a ship made of rock,” Daylen agreed. “Varel, we need to send another report to Warden-Commander Clarel in Orlais, a request for reinforcements. One particular reinforcement, actually.”[1]

Several platters of food arrived soon after Daylen had gathered his Wardens, a spark of rejuvenation magic washing away his fatigue as the five of them tore into the food ravenously. “All right, strategy meeting,” Daylen said around a mouthful of chicken and cheese. “We’ve got a missing Warden, darkspawn attacks rampant across the arling, a severed trade route, and a rumor about a Deep Roads entrance. All of this starts in Amaranthine, but which should we hit first?”

Rowland spoke up first. “I think we should find this Kristoff fellow. He’s been missing for quite some time now.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “I disagree. Wardens are known for survival skills. We can dispatch soldiers to look for him once we get a lead on his movements, but we need to protect the trade routes. The coin _needs_ to come in before we can get the arling back in order.”

“I’d say we should take the fight to them,” Oghren suggested. “Chase down that Deep Roads entrance and make sure the darkspawn think twice about using it ever again.”

Anders washed down a hunk of bread and cheese with a mouthful of wine. “I’ll follow your lead, Daylen. But it seems to me that we may be trying to decide this without having all the facts. Maybe Kristoff’s been on a bender in an Amaranthine pub all this time.”

Daylen shrugged. “All right. Let’s finish up here and get moving. It’s going to start getting dark soon.”

—AOTG—

The Warden-Commander sighed as he looked at the gates of Amaranthine. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”

Refugees and beggars clogged the city entrance, and few were being admitted. The houses outside the city walls were in poor repair, mostly abandoned or housing squatters and the gardens trampled by people with no place else to go. Daylen did spot several of Garevel’s men moving through the crowd, extending the offer of work for food, housing, and protection at Vigil’s Keep.

“They used to display the heads of traitors over that gate,” Nathaniel remarked. “I suppose my father is lucky his didn’t end up there.”

Asking around let the Wardens find Colbert shortly, a lean and scruffy human with an equally dirty elf standing next to him. Daylen looked him up and down, and the man glared at him. “Eh? What are you staring at? Looking to start something?”

“I just want to talk,” Daylen replied soothingly.

“I’m tired and hungry and I’ve got a wart on my foot the size of an orange and you want to _talk_?”

Daylen cracked his neck. “You’ll talk to me. I’m a Grey Warden. And the arl. And fully capable of rendering you into fat and strips of meat without moving from where I’m standing.”

Colbert turned white. “I see. I can’t take all the credit for finding the rift, you know. Micah here fell in first.” Micah grunted. “It’s quite a ways out of town. We were tracking a buck off in that direction, you see, before this darkspawn mess. We’d been on his tail for a week at that point. I’d wager he thought it was great fun, leading us on a merry chase as he did.”

“And the chasm?” Daylen asked, trying to get Colbert back on track.

“Oh, the chasm! Yes, er…we saw it coming over a rise. It really was something to behold, a huge cleft, as though the Maker Himself had cracked the earth in two, like…like an egg.”

“I like eggs,” Micah added helpfully.

“It looked like someone had tried to build over it, but it must have been abandoned a long time ago. No one in town knew about it. So of course, we had to investigate! That was when Micah fell in. A shriek like you wouldn’t believe, and he was gone.”

“Earth crumbled,” Micah supplied. “Not stable.”

“Right, and as Micah lay there yelling about his knee or is head or what have you, the darkspawn appeared.”

“Looks like you survived,” Daylen replied. “You must have gotten lucky.”

“We did,” Colbert agreed. “They seemed…occupied, like they had some place really important that they had to be. Didn’t notice us at all. Thank the Maker.”

“The darkspawn were so occupied as to overlook two screaming, injured men?” Anders asked skeptically. “Boggles the mind.”

“I marked the chasm on my map so we could avoid it, but it sounds like you want to know where it is,” Colbert said, handing over a tattered map. “So here you go.” He paused. “So…are we getting anything for our trouble?”

Daylen reached into his pouch and fished out a gold coin. “Here’s a sovereign. If you’re looking for work, go to Vigil’s Keep, we might be able to hire you on for something.”

“A whole sovereign? If there’s ever a reason to fall into a darkspawn pit, here it is. Maker bless you.”

“You paid a sovereign for that?” Nathaniel asked. “Really?”

“If nothing else, it’ll get money moving around the city again,” Daylen replied.

A haggard beggar had wandered up. “Spare anything, ser? The family farm was burned by darkspawn. They won’t let us in the city. I’ve no money, no home. I…I don’t know how I’ll survive.”

Daylen looked him over. “Go to Vigil’s Keep. We need workers and soldiers and we’re willing to pay. If you’ve got family, we can house them around the Keep.” He eyed a bloody rag tied around the man’s bicep. “You injured?” The beggar nodded. “I’m a healer of some skill. I could take care of that, if you’d like.” It took only a few minutes to heal the man’s wound, and the beggar flexed his arm, a smile spreading across his face.

“Such generosity,” Anders commented as they moved off.

Daylen shrugged. “It makes the Wardens look good. Makes mages look good. Healthy people are happy people. And it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. So why not?” Anders seemed unconvinced, and the group reached the gates, bypassing a group of civilians arguing with a gate guard.

Another guard stepped into their path, holding out a hand. “Excuse me, but I need to search your packs for smuggled goods.”

Daylen paused, before shrugging and setting his pack down. “All right. I have nothing to hide.”

“Thank you. I will make this quick.”

“What are you doing, man?” Another guard called. “Are you accusing the Commander of the Grey of smuggling?”

“But I…” the guard stammered. “You said everyone!”

“You are dismissed,” the senior guard growled, turning to Daylen. “I apologize. Smugglers and thieves have all but taken over the city.”

“He’s just doing his job,” Daylen said, the chastised guard giving him a grateful look. “If you’re taking precautions, take them. I’ve got a vested interest in putting these smugglers down, and I don’t mind submitting to a search if it means setting an example.”

The man seemed unsure. Perhaps he had been trained too well to think that nobles were above the law. “I…yes, Warden-Commander. The smugglers have us scrambling, to be honest.”

“You the man in charge?”

The man nodded. “Constable Aidan, at your service, Commander. We could certainly use your help in this. Come speak to me later if you’re interested.”

Daylen added it to the long list of ‘shit we need to do’ and led his Wardens into the city. Things were little better within the city walls – every alley that the Wardens passed had beggars taking shelter in it, and people who walked the streets looked suspicious and weary. The market stalls that Daylen paused to look at had plentiful wares, but the prices had grown out of control due to the trade route difficulties.

“Someone told me you could buy anything in the marketplace,” Oghren said. “They lied. No pickled nug anywhere.”

“Does that pass as a delicacy where you come from?” Anders asked.

“Don’t make fun, you manskirt-wearing freak,” Oghren groused.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Anders replied. “Oh, wait, never mind. I thought you were being attacked by a wild animal. But it was only your beard.”

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Sparkle-fingers!”

“I can’t take you two anywhere, can I?” Daylen interrupted.

The two had the decency to look properly chastised for a moment. Then Oghren shrugged. “So, mage, huh? What’s that like?”

“To have all this power at my fingertips?” Anders asked.

“No. To always have to wear a skirt!” Oghren laughed.

Anders looked at him in confusion. “Oh, you don’t know the story behind the robes? You know how strict things are in the Circle, right? Well of course you do. Well, the robes make quick trysts in the corner easy. No laces or buttons. You’re done before the Templars catch on.”

Oghren gaped at him. “Really?”

“Just ask anyone,” Anders said knowingly.

Oghren looked at Daylen. “No. Really?”

Daylen nodded. “You’d be amazed what the Circle mages will do in a corner or between bookshelves when the Templars aren’t looking.” The dwarf looked impressed. “And if you’re _particularly_ good, even when they are looking.”

The Wardens continued down the market path, noting more of the men sent to offer employment to the beggars and refugees. Daylen spent a few minutes healing the injured, pausing to glare at Anders until the healer sighed and rolled up his sleeves to help.

As they continued looking for Mervis, another man accosted them. “Greetings, Warden-Commander! You’re the sort who delights in helping the common man, yes? May I direct you to the Merchant’s Guild’s board?”

“That anything like a Chanter’s Board?” Daylen asked.

“More or less. Folk here often need goods from far-flung parts. They post the requests here. There is good coin in this, particularly with trade halted by trouble on the roads.”

Daylen paused and took a look at several of the notices, picking several that looked relevant. He passed one off to Nathaniel immediately, and the rogue’s face darkened as he read it, before he strode off, snagging a bottle from a nearby market stall without the merchant noticing.

“Where’s he off to?” Anders asked.

“Someone’s smuggling Antivan poison into the city, and hiding it in market stalls,” Daylen explained. “Nathaniel recognizes the stuff. He’ll be able to collect them quietly.”

“Do you trust him?” Oghren asked.

Daylen shrugged. “Well, he didn’t make nearly as much of an attempt to kill me as Zevran did, so yes, mostly.” He paused, turning to Anders. “Mind if I ask you something?” The healer shrugged. “How’d you escape the last time? You were still there when I left the tower, I had figured you’d died in Uldred’s uprising before we met at Vigil’s Keep.”

Anders snorted. “Well, about that. I wasn’t actually there when you left. I was at Ostagar.”

Daylen stared at him. “You mean they actually let you out of the tower to fight?”

“To heal, yes,” Anders replied. “Then I stole a set of Templar armor and waited for my chance to sneak away. I left before the battle.” He grinned. “I actually saw you there. I was standing outside the mage encampment.”

“I thought one of those Templars seemed a little skinny,” Daylen muttered. “Glad to be out?”[2]

“You have no idea,” Anders replied. “Or, actually, yes, you probably do, at that.” He inhaled deeply. “Can you smell that? That is the smell of freedom. It comes complete with the smell of dogs and dust, but the freedom is in there, too.”

“Wardening is a sort of freedom, I suppose,” Daylen allowed.

“I may not have a choice about fighting the darkspawn, but this is a step up for me. I escaped from the tower seven times. After the last time, they put me in solitary confinement for a year. Eventually, I’m sure they would have branded me a maleficar, true or not, and executed me.”

Daylen nodded. “I think the way they treated you prompted a lot of mages to join in on the uprising.”

“The problem is that mages are _tolerated_ ,” the healer agreed. “Barely. It’s like you need permission to be alive. There’s nothing a mage can do to prove himself. Everyone needs to be protected from you. The end.”

“I’ve always thought that there has to be a better way.”

“The Tevinter Imperium has a better way, but we know how _that_ argument flies around here,” Anders said darkly.

Daylen shook his head. “The problems with Tevinter aren’t based on the blood magic. Magisters aren’t horrible people because they’re mages, but because they’re over-privileged nobles who have an entire tree up their arses and believe they’re the Maker’s gift to the world. Anything awful Tevinter has done, Orlais has probably done twice while wearing stupid masks and eating stinky cheese.” Anders snorted, Oghren gave a belly laugh, and even the normally dour Rowland was fighting a smile. “Oh yes, risky comedy here in Ferelden, making fun of Orlais. Never let it be said I don’t reach for the low-hanging fruit.”

Anders nodded. “Tevinter’s crime is its slavery, not its free magic.”

“Agreed. Orlesian chevaliers don’t need magic to be free to ride through alienages and slaughter any elf they feel like killing. Fereldan nobles don’t need magic to walk into the local alienage and abduct and rape women or sell them into slavery.”

“And there have been a dozen Annulments that the Templars have enacted that have slaughtered hundreds, if not thousands of mages whose only crime was being in the building.” Anders sighed. “All I want is a pretty girl, a decent meal, and the right to shoot lightning at fools!”

Daylen shrugged. “Look at me. I think you’re aiming too low.”

Anders snorted. “True. I want a harem, a banquet, and the ability to rain fireballs upon every Templar in creation.”

“Even the ones that didn’t take their vows? Because I met one who was recruited out of training, and he’s a good man.”

Anders grunted. “I’d have to meet him, first.”

Daylen smiled faintly. “You did. King Alistair was a Templar trainee until Duncan, the previous Warden-Commander, recruited him. The man was like a father to Alistair, and got the ‘mages need to be killed’ nonsense out of his head.”

Anders paused. “Oh. Well, he’s all right, I guess.”

Daylen spotted a man standing in an alleyway wearing leathers, an innocuous sack next to him. “Hold up.” He approached the man slowly, trying to seem nonthreatening. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t believe so, Warden-Commander,” the man replied casually. “Perhaps we should?”

“What can I do for the Collective?” Daylen asked.

“There are several apostate mages around Amaranthine. Maleficarum, rather. The Templars are hunting them, to the point of posting a notice about it on the Chanter’s Board. They…pose a threat to the Collective, as we have had contact with them in the past. If these mages were to reveal our existence, a lot of good people would be hurt.”

Anders frowned. “What is the Collective?”

“The Mage’s Collective,” Daylen replied. “Sort of a shadow guild. They work with Circle mages and apostates, basically serving to help mages operate outside the restrictions and oversight of the Templars and the Chantry. Discretion and anonymity is prized. I did a bit of work for them back during the Blight.” He looked to the Collective representative. “Anders here is a former Circle mage, now a Grey Warden like me. He’s a friend to what the Collective represents.”

“The Collective is always interested in making new friends,” the man said. “If they can be trusted.”

“He’s got no love for the Templars,” Daylen assured him. “We’ll look into this. Have a pleasant day.”

“I don’t really approve of hunting down mages,” Anders grumbled as they left the alley.

“Neither do I, but when a handful of blood mages risk bringing the Templars down on the entire Collective, we have to make a choice,” Daylen replied. “Like the man said, if the Collective is revealed, a lot of good people will get hurt or die. The Templars would crack down like never before.”

Anders still seemed uncomfortable with the idea, but fell silent as they finally found Mervis. “Warden-Commander! Thank the Maker you’re finally here! I was afraid our messages never got through to you!”

“They got through,” Daylen replied. “I got here as soon as I could.”

“Excuse my haste, but this is a rather urgent matter. Our caravans are being attacked. The wagons are burned to ashes, and there…there have been no survivors. It’s gotten worse lately. People from the neighboring villages have found guards torn limb from limb and left in the village square.”

Daylen stroked at his beard. “And you suspect darkspawn?”

“We don’t know for sure. Communication has been difficult with the attacks. But people in the area said they saw monsters lurking in the shadows. Whatever it is, it’s completely crippled trade between Amaranthine and Denerim. No one wants to travel the road through the Wending Wood. Can the Grey Wardens help?”

“We’ll investigate it as soon as we can,” Daylen promised. “We have to make a stop off in the Knotwood Hills, but we’ll be headed to the Wending Wood as soon as we can.” He paused. “Could I ask a favor?”

“I…suppose, Commander.”

“We need to use one of your wagons and a pair of oxen. Maybe some boxes, not necessarily with anything in them.” The man looked confused. “We’re going to set a trap for the bandits along the North Road and the Pilgrim’s Path. They’ll be expecting a trading caravan, maybe a few sellsword guards, but I’m betting that they won’t be expecting five Wardens who are looking for them.”

Mervis gave a nasty grin. “If you plan to stick it to those bastards, the Merchant’s Guild will make a hefty donation to your organization. You have my promise.” The two hammered out a few other details before moving on, spotting Nathaniel warmly embracing a woman.

“Nathaniel!” Daylen called as they approached. “Did you find your sister?”

“Yes!” The man replied happily. “This is my sister, Delilah. Delilah, these are the Grey Wardens. This is Daylen Amell, the Warden-Commander.”

“A pleasure,” Daylen replied, bowing slightly at the waist. “Nathaniel spoke highly of you. I’m glad to see you survived the Blight. This is Oghren, Anders, and Rowland.”

“Times must have been hard, Delilah,” Nathaniel said. “But you can do better than this. Come back to the estate until we find somewhere else.”

Delilah looked confused. “What?” She laughed. “Oh, Nathaniel, I didn’t marry Albert out of desperation. I adore him! I was so glad to get away from Father’s evil – this life is so much better.”

“Father’s evil?” Nathaniel asked. “Isn’t that overstating things a little? He got caught up in politics…”

“You weren’t here,” Delilah said quietly. “You didn’t see what he did, Nathaniel. You want the culprit who destroyed our family? It was him, without question.”

“I…had no idea,” the rogue admitted.

“Of course you did. But you always worshipped father, right from when you were a little boy.”

“If you two would like to catch up, you can meet us outside the Chantry in a bit,” Daylen offered.

“I would, actually,” Nathaniel said. “Later, then?”

Daylen nodded. “Delilah, again, lovely to meet you, please come by Vigil’s Keep sometime.”

They were looping around the city when Anders suddenly stopped and spoke to an elven woman. “Namaya? You’re still here?”

“I keep my promises,” the woman replied. “It’s about time you showed up. It turns out you were right.” She handed him a scrap of vellum. “The cache is here in Amaranthine.”

Anders’ eyes widened. “It is? You found it?”

“I did. What you do with that information is up to you. I, for one, am done dealing with mages.”

Anders looked slightly hurt. “I…I guess I should thank you.”

“Damned right you should. You get caught, Anders, I’m not helping you again. That’s all I’m saying.” She left without another word, and Anders looked down at the vellum, before pocketing it.

“I…suppose that requires some explanation,” Anders said slowly.

“Friend of yours, I take it?” Daylen asked.

“She’s normally more welcoming than that. A lot more. Namaya is…a friend. Last time I escaped from the tower, I asked her to look into some things. That’s why I was in Amaranthine. The Templars thought I’d come to take a ship, but it was to meet her.”

“Long way to go just to meet a friend,” Daylen remarked.

“During the Blight, the Templars moved their store of phylacteries to Amaranthine for safety. _My_ phylactery is among them, Namaya learned. So long as the Templars have that sample of my blood, they can find me. I need to destroy it. It’s here.” He handed over the slip of vellum, a map of the city sketched out with a circled location that Daylen recognized.

“I’m getting memories of how I left the Circle,” Daylen muttered. “But you’re right. They shouldn’t be allowed to control you.”

“I know we’re busy killing darkspawn and all. But the sooner we find this vial, the better I’ll feel.”

Daylen stared at him a moment. “We can go right now, but fair warning, this is absolutely a trap.”

“What makes you think that?”

Daylen ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “First, the Blight’s been over for a while, and the Templars would have already moved the phylacteries back. They don’t like leaving those things out in the open. Secondly, she was able to ferret out the location of this cache despite Templars being notoriously paranoid about those things. Third, she was uncharacteristically rude to you. Fourth, there’s at least one Templar in the area who has a personal grudge against you and is clearly willing to ignore rules to kill you. Fifth, that warehouse is nowhere near the guard patrols, which Templars _never_ do, even when they go without their usual armor. The way they’re built, they stick to the well-patrolled routes.”

Anders deflated somewhat. “You…may have a point.”

“I’ll tell you what. We’ll take a look, I go in first quietly.”

“No offense, but you don’t seem the quiet type,” Anders said.

Daylen snorted. “Trust me.” Anders didn’t look convinced, but nodded.

“Ey, Daylen,” Oghren chimed in as they continued down the street. “You think there’s an apothecary around here somewhere?”

Daylen shrugged. “Probably, why?”

The dwarf looked unsure. “Well, er…I don’t want to bother you with this, you being my boss and all…”

“Do you need healing herbs? We have those. And plenty of healing magic.”

“I’ve tried the herbs, but they only stop the itching for a few hours.” Daylen stared at him, and the dwarf sighed. “Right, look. For the past day or two I’ve had this…burning rash. The skin’s actually got a sort of greenish look to it…”

“Oh, Maker,” Daylen sighed. “You may have touched the wrong bush. There are plants that’ll cause a rash.”

“I didn’t touch anything!” Oghren insisted. “You know, I bet it’s that Grey Warden stuff we had to drink.”

“No one told you to drink _all of it_!” Daylen retorted. “Come to think of it, I’ve never even heard of anyone drinking all of it!”

“Too late for regrets,” Oghren snorted. “Eh, I’ll just see if I can’t find some nice minty balm somewhere in this town.”

“If you can’t, we’ll mix some up for you,” Daylen offered. “But you’re on your own for applying it.” He glanced at an elderly woman standing in front of the Chantry as he passed her, before stopping a look of confusion on his face. Turning slowly, he looked closer at the woman. “Wynne? What are you doing here?”

The elderly mage turned, her eyes widening. “Oh, it so good to see you, my friend. I contemplated visiting you at Vigil’s Keep, but things…got busy.”

“I thought you were going to Tevinter with Shale!”

“I was planning on it, but I received word that the College of Magi is convening in Cumberland, and I must attend. Hopefully this will all blow over before it’s begun. But you have enough on your mind as it is. I shan’t trouble you with this further.”

“Magi business concerns me too, you know,” Daylen replied. “As it does Anders here.”

Wynne looked closer at Anders, her voice in the same warm, vaguely passive-aggressive tone Daylen had become familiar with during the Blight. “Good to see you finally doing something worthy of a mage of your ability, Anders.”

“Wasn’t entirely my choice,” Anders replied.

“A nutty Templar wanted to execute him for something that wasn’t his fault,” Daylen explained with a straight face. “I…empathized. And invoked the Right of Conscription.”

Wynne gave him a tight smile. “I see. Well, the both of you should know that something stirs within the fraternities. The Libertarians wish to pull away entirely from the Chantry. And if they get enough support…”

“Bad idea,” Daylen said quietly.

“Pull away entirely?” Anders said at the same time. “That’s madness. I hate Chantry oversight as much as the next mage, but they can’t just decide to leave. This is a recipe for disaster.”

“Agreed.”

Anders rubbed at his chin. “We can say we're free all we want, but that won't make a bit of difference to the Templars. The Chantry wouldn’t even _consider_ such a thing, even if it had support from every mage in the Circle.”

“Well, looks like we’ll be staying far, far away from Cumberland for a while,” Daylen muttered. “If you’ve got time, come by Vigil’s Keep. There’s a very fine wine cellar there.”

“Oh, I would, but I have a great many preparations to make before I leave for Nevarra,” Wynne said. “But perhaps there is something you can do for me. One of my…colleagues, Ines, has spent the last few months in the Wending Wood. The Circle has been unable to reach her, given the trouble in the area.”

“We’ll probably be heading that way,” Daylen replied. “We’ll keep an eye out for her. I’ve heard of her. She wrote several books on herbalism, if I remember correctly.” Daylen glanced at his companions for a moment, before stepping closer to Wynne. “Look, I received a note from Leliana recently. She seemed to think that you'd be in the area. I didn't realize she was that aware of where everyone was.”

“I am unsure whether I should be impressed or wary at her skill,” Wynne replied.

Daylen gave her a wry smile. “Both, I should think. Regardless, she thinks she has a lead on your son.”

Wynne's face went slack in surprise. “Truly?”

“Yes. He's a mage, at the White Spire. Name of Rhys. A fine young man, from what Leliana told me. I thought you would want to know.”

“I…thank you, truly. Take care, my friend.”

Daylen waited until Wynne left, before sighing. “It figures.”

Rowland raised an eyebrow. “What does?”

“Every time that woman has a responsibility to fulfill, she goes running off on some wild goose chase,” Daylen groused. “She was at the Circle during Uldred’s uprising. Managed to corral some apprentices and kept them safe for days. But when the dust settled, the Circle was nearly destroyed, and instead of staying around and helping out as was her duty, she invited herself along with me. She spent the next several months telling me how to do my job and live my life. She promised a friend of ours that she would help her on a journey to Tevinter, and now she’s running off to Nevarra to some ridiculous Circle meeting.”

“Sounds like a fun person,” Rowland replied.

“Can’t deny how good she is at healing injuries, but she can really be a pain.” Daylen perused the Chanter’s Board, dropping some medical supplies off and taking a few other notices from the board. “We’ll wait for Nathaniel here and then get on with this.”

 “Wait for who now?” Nathaniel asked from a foot to Daylen’s right.

The Warden-Commander jumped in shock, mock-glaring at his companion. “Couldn’t you cough or snap a twig or something?”

“Not really my style,” the rogue sniffed.[3]

Daylen grumbled, but subsided and attempted to recover some dignity. “How’d things go with your sister?”

“She said she wants me to come back, once all this is done. Meet her husband. She’s due by the spring.”

“You’re going to be an uncle?” Daylen asked. “Congratulations! To you and her!”

The man nodded. “She seems _happy_. She said Father deserved to die! I still can’t believe it.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“I thought he had his reasons,” Nathaniel admitted. “It was a _war_ , for Andraste’s sake! Before I went to the Free Marches, he was never…how could he have changed so much?”

“It’s not your fault, Nathaniel.”

“What if I’d never left? I didn’t have much choice, but still…I wish I’d known some of this sooner. I feel like such a fool.” Daylen opened his mouth to reply, but Nathaniel shook his head. “Please, let’s just get back to our business. I need to think.” He turned, glanced at the statue of Andraste in front of the Chantry, and paused. “It figures, actually.” At Daylen’s questioning look, he jerked a thumb at the statue. “There used to be another statue here. It was of Byron Howe, my great-uncle. He died in the rebellion, helping King Maric reclaim his throne. Yet his statue is gone. All because of what my father did.”

“That’s a shame,” Daylen said softly. “His actions shouldn’t ruin the whole family.”

“It truly is. There’s a long line of heroes in my family. The Howes have been around since Calenhad. Now it’s all gone. And for what? For being on the wrong side of the war. For choosing poorly.”

Daylen shifted. “Your father was more involved than that. Far more involved.”

“Maybe you’re right. I wish I knew exactly how.”

The Warden-Commander took a deep breath. “I can tell you, but not here. Not now. Later, over a few dozen drinks. We’ll need them.”

Nathaniel grunted. “I wonder what happened to the old statue. Likely propping up the side of a Chantry or something. Poor Arl Byron.” He shook his head. “Ah, statues are for pigeons. I don’t want to look at it.”

Daylen sniggered, but covered it up by clearing his throat. “All right. So there are a few items of business to take care of here. First off, we’ve got packs of thugs outside the city, so we’ll claim the loot and clean up the streets a bit. We’ll also be heading into the Wending Wood. Do you know the place?”

“I’ve spent some time there, yes,” Nathaniel replied. “There are several mines and caves there that darkspawn could hide.”

“We’ve also got some maleficarum to hunt down in the city, and the Templars are trying to trap Anders,” Daylen went on.

“We don’t know it’s a trap,” Anders insisted.

“It’s a trap,” Daylen said.

“Trap,” Oghren agreed.

“Definitely a trap,” Rowland finished.

Nathaniel stared at them for a moment. “What’s this about maleficarum?”

“There’s apparently some on the loose in the city, and the Templars are in a tizzy about it. For reasons I’ll explain later, we’re going to hunt them down.”

“We’re going to take on maleficarum?” Nathaniel asked. “Is that wise?”

“I’ve killed a few dozen over the past year,” Daylen replied. “It’s not nearly as difficult as you might think. I mean, the Templars…well, I met a mage that fled the Circle as an apprentice. They hunted him down and tried to execute him as a maleficar without evidence, but they couldn’t even do _that_ right. But _usually_ , they manage to kill them without too many casualties. If they attack in large numbers on their own terms and the maleficar isn’t expecting  them.”

“You’re really not filling me with confidence here,” Nathaniel said dryly.

“Relax. Anders, if you want to wait out here, I don’t blame you. I couldn’t talk to a Templar for a few weeks after I left the Circle.”

The healer shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

Inside the Chantry, a female Templar was waiting. “Are you Ser Rylien? I saw your posting on the Chanter’s Board.”

The Templar was surprised. “I am fortunate indeed that the Commander of the Grey has taken a personal interest in this matter. I’m sorry our note was vague, but Amaranthine is a hotbed of maleficar activity. Details of who and what they were about would undoubtedly get back to them.”

“And why aren’t the Templars handling this?”

“I have only newly taken my vows,” Rylien said. “The more senior Templars have returned to Denerim for more men. They suggested I find someone more skilled – like you – who could apprehend the maleficarum.”

“And by apprehend, you mean execute,” Daylen replied. “Say what you mean.”

The Templar looked uncomfortable. “I…yes. That is what I mean. I have worked with an artist to create these sketches of the three suspects. If you could confront them and question them, you would be doing the Maker’s work.” She passed over a trio of sketches, and Daylen passed them around, his Wardens familiarizing themselves with the appearances.

“And upon confronting and questioning them, we’ll promptly be attacked, at which point we will respond in kind and solve your problem,” Daylen pressed. “Ser Rylien, double-speak like that is beneath both of us. I lived in the Circle. I know what is done to maleficarum.” Without waiting for her to answer, Daylen led his Wardens out of the Chantry. “All right. So here’s how we do this. Nathaniel, Rowland, I want you two on point, looking for these people. When you find them, signal me and make sure you’re a few steps back from the target. I’ll make the kill.”

“You sure you can take them alone?” Anders asked.

“I have a spell that can kill mages, demons, abominations, anything that uses mana almost instantly,” Daylen replied. Anders blanched. “I know, it’s horrible, but it helped us clear out the demons and abominations from the Circle. It’s a Dalish spell, I can teach it to you if you’d like.”

Anders looked uncomfortable. “And you don’t plan to use this on me, do you?”

The Warden-Commander looked offended. “I would _never_.” He paused. “Well, not unless you attack me first. I can’t think of a reason that you would ever be an enemy to me.” Daylen scratched his beard. “I mean, fair warning, I expect all of you to disagree with me if you think I’m wrong. I don’t want blind obedience. But I do expect you to trust me. Everyone clear?” A chorus of agreements ran around the group, and Daylen nodded. “Good. Back on topic, we’ll confirm their identity, then either I’ll kill them, or if I’m out of position, Nathaniel can stick a knife in their kidneys or something. Any questions?”

“Yeah, I got one,” Oghren said, taking a pull on a flask. “If there’s four of these mages we’re supposed to kill, how come the idiot in the kilt only gave us three sketches?”

“Probably because the Templars can’t find their arses with both hands and a map,” Daylen replied. “They probably don’t even know that there is a fourth mage. We’ll check back with the man from the Collective, see if we can’t make sure we get the last one too.”

“Collective?” Nathaniel asked.

“I’ll explain later,” Daylen said.

It didn’t take long to find the first of their targets, an elf who was muttering to himself near the south gate. Nathaniel stopped in front of the elf, pretending to ask for directions as Daylen cast the magekiller spell. The man simply dropped, hitting the paving stones as the spell turned his mana against him. Nathaniel and Rowland dragged the corpse off to the side of the street, stuffing the dead elf in some bushes. At Rowland’s suggestion, Daylen sent him to go tell Ser Rylien that they had found and eliminated the first apostate so the body could be disposed of.

“While we’re here,” Daylen commented, “let’s take a look at that warehouse.” They walked down an alley behind the warehouse, the Warden-Commander scanning the base of the wall. “Ah, here we go.”

“A mousehole?” Anders asked, looking at the tiny hole in the wall. “What…” He goggled as Daylen shifted forms, the mouse scurrying through the hole in the wall. Several minutes elapsed before Daylen returned, resuming his human form with a dark look on his face.

“You can  _shapeshift_?” Anders asked incredulously. “Since when?”

“Since about two months after I left the tower,” Daylen replied. “It wasn’t easy to learn.”

“What else can you do?”

Daylen shrugged. “Well, I can rub my stomach and pat my head at the same time, I can kill dragons, and I can leave a woman unable to walk a straight line using nothing but my-”

“I mean what other shapeshifting can you do?” Anders cut in, chuckling.

Daylen gave him a sheepish look. “Actually, all I can do is a mouse. I never quite got the bird down. The one time I managed the transformation, I lost focus mid-flight and nearly broke my neck. Figured it was a bad idea to try again after that. M-” He paused for a heartbeat. “The person who taught me shapeshifting had at least a half-dozen different forms that she could switch between as easily as breathing, and I’m pretty sure she had a few I never saw. A raven, mouse, bear, giant spider, a dog, and this horrifying swarm of insects that I only saw her use once, but it left an impression. She mentioned an interest in adding a dragon to the list, but I don’t know if she ever managed it.”

“Can you teach me?” Anders asked.

“Of course. Looking to have a few tricks up your sleeve?” Daylen asked. Anders nodded gleefully. “It’s no wonder the Templars made sure that this magic never made it to the Circle – can you imagine them trying to keep a bunch of mice from sneaking into places they shouldn’t be?”

Anders shuddered. “The tower’s cats would have fun with that.”

Daylen blanched. “That’s true. Maybe it’s for the best, then. Anyway, it absolutely is a trap. Rylock and two other Templars are in there, waiting. We’ll come back to this place. Those bastards are defying a Grey Warden treaty, Chantry law, and an order from the Crown.”

The second mage they were supposed to kill was on the north side of the city, a man who was mumbling about potions ingredients as he entered a stairwell leading up to the battlements. He never saw Nathaniel coming, the rogue covering the man’s mouth with one hand and stabbing him in the back with a dagger. The body was concealed, and Rowland left again to notify the Templars.

The group found the third mage when they cut down the market row of the city, an obviously nervous elf who was rambling to herself as she ignored the stalls around her. She screeched as she died when Daylen’s spell took effect, and another man turned, his face twisting. “By the power in my blood, you will suffer for what you have done to my apprentices!” He squawked as Oghren’s axe caught him in the upper back, and the dwarf kicked the blood mage in the back of the knee, dropping him to the floor for a follow-up finishing swing.

“Well, that’s four,” the dwarf pronounced, wrenching his blade free and ignoring the screaming civilians. Several men were running towards the commotion, however.

“Oh, great, it’s the guard,” Daylen groused.

“How can you tell?” Anders asked.

“When criminals draw weapons on each other, your average person will bugger off as quickly as possible and keep their head down until the screaming stops. They don’t want to be witnesses. Civilians only stick around when the guard are involved. And this would be really inconvenient. Waste a whole lot of time answering a lot of foolish questions, filling out paperwork, lying to the authorities…”[4]

“Aren’t you an Arl now?”

“Doesn’t make me immune to the law. A Templar so much as catches a whiff of any wrongdoing on my part and they’ll be screaming blood magic, maleficar, and a lot of ‘how dare you.’ They seem to like that phrase.”

Luckily, it took less time than expected to explain to Constable Aidan and his compatriots why the Wardens were killing people in the streets. It took even less time to convince Aidan to raid the warehouse that Anders had thought held his phylactery in exchange for the Wardens taking out the packs of thugs outside the city. A few inspired fireballs from Anders and Daylen solved the problem, and shortly afterwards the collected group were stacked up outside the warehouse.

“We’ll go in first,” Daylen said. “I want your men there as witnesses. This is probably going to get messy, but don’t attack unless they do first.”

“We’re ready, Commander,” Aidan replied. “We’ll back you up.”

Daylen nodded. “Anders, we’re going to play along at first. Make it seem like we’re not expecting a trap. Come on.”

They entered the warehouse, Daylen having scouted the place out beforehand. “Maybe they don’t want to draw attention to the cache?” Anders asked aloud. “Could we be that lucky?” The others followed them in, the Wardens leaving their weapons sheathed.

“And here I almost believed the infamous Anders wouldn’t take the bait,” Rylock sneered as they entered the next room.

“Considering how hamfisted your trap was, we really didn’t,” Daylen said.

“You made a poor choice with this one, Commander,” Rylock replied scornfully. “Anders will never submit, not to us and not to you.”

Daylen rolled his eyes. “Unlike you, I’m not asking him to ‘submit’ to anything. And he has made a fine Grey Warden so far.”

“So far, yes. I’ll make sure this murderer is never a bother to anyone again.”

Anders blanched. “What? No, you can’t arrest me. King Alistair allowed my conscription!”

“The Chantry’s authority supersedes the crown in this matter. You cannot hide within the Grey Wardens’ ranks.”

“No it doesn’t, he’s not hiding, and he’s not going anyplace,” Daylen snapped.

“Hardly surprising, for yet another mage,” Rylock scoffed. “I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you naught. Now you come with us.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Aidan said from the warehouse. Rylock and her two helmeted goons suddenly looked less sure of themselves. “What is going on here?”

“Just apprehending a wanted murderer, guardsman,” Rylock insisted. “No need for you to get involved.”

Daylen smiled sweetly. “Constable Aidan?”

“Funny, that, because it looks like you’re trying to murder a bunch of Grey Wardens to me,” Aidan replied. “In defiance of a treaty signed by the First Divine and a royal order. Ser Rylock, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

“Enough of this,” Rylock snarled. “Take them!” Icy spikes erupted from the floor, ripping into the unarmored undersides of the two Templar followers. Rylock and almost everyone else in the room flinched, and Daylen hit her with a paralysis spell.

“Ser Rylock, you are under arrest for defiance of a royal order and attempted murder,” Aidan pronounced. “You will await justice in our jail.” He looked to one of his men. “Notify Revered Mother Leanna of this.” He looked to Daylen. “She will not be pleased.”

“Can’t say I care,” Daylen replied, stripping Rylock of her weapons. “This woman committed treason. She should be glad that she’s not being summarily executed.”

Anders was examining the two dead Templars as Rylock was clapped in irons and dragged away. “Did you deliberately impale them up the arse?”

“I was inspired by something Brother Genitivi once said to me,” Daylen said. “Anyway. Let’s go add insult to injury at the Chantry.”

Minutes later, Daylen was arguing with Revered Mother Leanna in her study. “Your Templars attacked my men,” he snarled. “As Rylock was clearly acting on her own initiative, she will be tried as a civilian and not a representative of the Chantry. If this _ever_ happens again, the Chantry will have to answer for this.”

“You _will_ release her into my custody,” Leanna replied icily. “We will conduct our own discipline.”

“Not a sodding chance,” Daylen shot back. “Two of your men are dead, and another faces the gallows. Be glad that I am not bringing you up on charges as well.”

“You would not dare–”

“Rylock attacked my Wardens in full view of the city guard!” Daylen shouted. “In defiance of the Right of Conscription, in defiance of my authority as Arl, and in defiance of _your liege_ , King Alistair! He gave his personal approval to Anders’ conscription, and Rylock attempted to murder one of my Wardens anyway! Do not assume I would not extend this further. If you cannot control your Templars, perhaps the Chantry should appoint a different Revered Mother.”

The Revered Mother paused, evaluating the situation. “Surely there is a way out of this,” Leanna ground out, realizing she was cornered. “Some way to minimize the damage.”

Daylen paused. “I’m going to attempt to not let your conduct over the past few minutes influence my judgment. What do you propose?”

The Revered Mother relaxed, aware that she had taken control of the conversation and was back in her element. “The tale of Templars stricken with Blight disease and mercifully ended by the mighty Grey Wardens would be far more palatable to the people,” Leanna offered. “The Templars being such a positive force in Ferelden, such a high-profile incident would incite a panic.”

Daylen glared at her. “So far, this only benefits you. What are you offering in exchange for my covering up your misdeeds?”

“The Wardens would receive a tidy donation from the Chantry for their assistance in this matter,” Leanna said smoothly. “The Templars, of course, would face an internal investigation from the Seekers of Truth. And to be sure such an incident never happens again, it would be made absolutely clear that the mage Anders is to be left alone by the Templars.”

The Warden-Commander considered the point. “I am amenable to this. But Rylock will be taken to the dungeon at Vigil’s Keep, where she will remain until the investigation is concluded, with the Seekers keeping the Grey Wardens updated on the results. Also, I want Warden Anders’ phylactery delivered to Vigil’s Keep.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry, did I give you the impression this was a negotiation?” Daylen snapped. “His phylactery is to be delivered to Vigil’s Keep within two weeks, or this entire deal is off. If he goes rogue for whatever reason, the Wardens will locate him. Not the Templars.”

“Provided this is kept quiet, that can be worked out,” Leanna replied.

“Very well,” Daylen agreed. “If there is nothing else, I imagine we both have a great deal of work to do.”

Daylen met his Wardens in the main hall of the Chantry, Rowland offering comfort to a grieving woman whom he had just informed of the suicide of her husband. “How’d it go?” Anders asked. “I heard yelling.”

“Rylock is going to be in the dungeon under Vigil’s Keep until a long and intensive internal investigation by the Seekers of Truth concludes,” Daylen explained. “We’re getting paid off to keep this quiet, and you, my friend, will have your phylactery, and a guarantee that the Templars will leave you alone.”

The mage stared at him. “How in the world did you manage all that?”

“Easy. I threatened to involve her in the trial as well. Slamming the Chantry with this would give them a great deal of trouble, considering the Grey Wardens are heroes now. That would be bad enough for her, but she’s got no intention of being brought up on charges and offered me the stars.”

Anders nodded. “I wonder if Namaya knew about this? I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

“She probably did,” Daylen suggested. “I imagine that’s why she was so upset. Probably an attempt to warn you off.”

Anders brightened at the idea that his friend hadn’t sold him up the river. “Thank you. You stood by me, and I appreciate that.”

Daylen clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re one of my Wardens, and you’re a friend. Friends stick up for each other.”

“I…guess they do.”

“Besides, you’re cute,” Daylen continued. “And the only one at the Keep that I can relate to in terms of magic. And you don’t smell. That’s a plus.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go before someone else rushes in to waggle a finger at us,” Anders said, chuckling.

The next hour or so was spent wandering the city. Daylen took the time to look through the foreign quarter for any sign of the Dark Wolf, half-intending to get information on the conspiracy against him, half-intending to ask the person why they had stolen his moniker. The search yielded nothing, but a visit to the local tavern where Daylen donated some silver to a fake orphan’s fund out of comedy yielded some entertainment for the group.

“Oghren, Rowland, grab us some drinks,” Daylen directed. “Anders, Nathaniel, come with me. Could be Kristoff’s been here.”

“Something I can do for you, friend?” The tavern-owner asked.

“Did a Grey Warden named Kristoff come through here?”

The man eyed them suspiciously. “And who are you supposed to be that’s asking?”

“I would be his commander,” Daylen said flatly.

The man’s eyes widened. “Oh. Welcome, my lord. Haven’t seen that fellow Kristoff for almost a week now. Not sure where he went. His room’s paid up to the end of the month. I guess he expected he’d be here a while.”

Daylen frowned. “Could be he’s still out there, but it’s still strange. You ever speak to him?”

“Not much. Seemed a pleasant enough bloke. He chatted up Sorcha a bit when she brought him his dinner. Maybe talk to her?”

“I’ll do that,” Daylen said. “You have the key to his room?”

The man handed it over. “It’s the last room at the end of the hall. If he comes back and gets upset, however, it’s on your head.”

“If he comes back and gets upset, I’d be glad to apologize,” Daylen replied. “He’s missing and he might be in danger.”

The Warden-Commander found Sorcha coming back from delivering food to one of the rooms. “Looking to wet your whistle, stranger?”

“Yes, but I’ve got some other business first. I’m looking for a Grey Warden named Kristoff. I understand you spoke to him.”

Sorcha nodded. “We chatted a bit. He was a friendly sort, for a Grey Warden. Spent most of his nights here, drinking. Wasn’t ever loud or too forward. Haven’t seen him for maybe a week, now.”

“I’m the Warden-Commander,” Daylen explained. “He’s past due to report in and I’m starting to get worried. He ever talk about what he was doing or where he was going?”

“Said he was tracking some darkspawn. One particular group that’s been raiding outside the city. He told me they were acting strange, those darkspawn. Acting obvious, like they wanted to be caught or something. He took a lot of notes while he drank, always writing things down. Maybe there’s something in his room?”

“Thanks for the answers. If you see a dwarf out there that’s drinking ale by the keg…well, just put it on my bill.”

Kristoff’s room was neat and well-organized, a box of mementos and a love letter from his wife in the chest. The only thing out of place in the entire room was a book that had been left open on the nightstand. Nathaniel was examining a large map of the arling tacked up on the wall.

“Looks like he was trying to narrow down their hiding place,” Nathaniel said. “Most of these locations are crossed out. Oh, Andraste’s blood, he went to the Blackmarsh.”

“Sounds like a fun place,” Daylen commented, looking under a table and finding a packet of encrypted notes hidden away.

“It’s not exactly a place for a summer home,” Nathaniel replied. “But it’s probably where he went. Come on, let’s go get that pint.”

After a few minutes and two pints, Daylen set his tankard down, signaling Sorcha for a refill. The others were at another table, a respectful distance away. “You really want to know what your father was up to?” Nathaniel nodded. “Well, all right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m not sure what he was like before, but when I met him, Rendon Howe was a power-hungry backstabber. His men attacked Castle Cousland, faking a riot to cover up the fact that barring two of them, he killed the entire Cousland family. He declared himself Teyrn of Highever, attempted to smear the Cousland name by claiming they were Orlesian collaborators. He imprisoned the rightful Arl of Denerim, who was a monster in his own right, had him tortured to death, and took over the city, purging the Alienage as he did. His men slaughtered so many people that the Veil was practically torn. He kidnapped, imprisoned, and tortured numerous people who would have spoken out against his or Loghain’s atrocities, including two Grey Wardens, one of whom was female and suffered horribly at his hands and those of his men. His bedroom at the Arl of Denerim’s estate was next to the dungeon. He helped Loghain sell Alienage elves into Tevinter slavery to fund their efforts to take over the country, embezzled from the country’s treasury, and to round off, there was that little incident with the Queen.”

Nathaniel was pale to start with, but the man had grown even whiter since Daylen started talking. It took him a moment to find his voice. “What happened with the Queen?”

Daylen took a long pull on his beer. “That’s a good question. So Alistair, Arl Eamon, our companions, and I had just arrived in Denerim for the Landsmeet – and I mean, _just arrived_ , we still had dust from the road on our clothes when Loghain, Ser Cauthrien, and your father arrived, presumably to try to talk us out of it. After they left, Anora’s handmaiden Erlina showed up. She was a bard, I had one of my own on hand and she identified Erlina as a trained spy. Erlina insisted that your father had quietly kidnapped Anora after Anora came to voice her concerns about King Cailan’s death and her father’s actions. If Anora suddenly turned up dead, who would be better to blame than the coalition seeking to overthrow the incumbent rulers?”

“They planned to frame you for Anora’s death?” Nathaniel asked.

Daylen shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure that the whole mess was Anora’s idea. The country was divided and your father was losing his grip on the reins. She saw your father’s influence on Loghain as unacceptable. I doubt Loghain would ever have allowed his daughter to be harmed, but Howe might have taken it on himself to eliminate the problem. I wanted to stay out of it, but Eamon pressed the point that we could use Anora’s backing in the Landsmeet, and even if it was a trap, we didn’t have a choice but to try to rescue her. Lacking a better option, I took Alistair and two of my companions with me, and we infiltrated the estate with Erlina’s help.”

“And you found my father.”

“Not initially. We found that mysteriously enough, between Erlina’s leaving and our getting there, Howe’s mage had cast a barrier spell across the door to Anora’s room. Erlina and Anora got a bit irritated when I asked whether we would have to assassinate any of her other political rivals on the way. Anyway, we got caught by a guard when Alistair cleansed the shield, and while we were trying to find a place to hide the body, we ran into a third party in the place.”

“Lady Cousland,” Nathaniel surmised.

Daylen nodded. “By some stroke of fate, she had showed up with the intention of killing your father in retaliation for her family’s murder. We joined forces, carved our way through the slaughterhouse that was Howe’s dungeons, and released his prisoners. Then we found Howe. He was…not entirely in control of himself. My companions and I took out Howe’s guards while he and Elissa fought. She killed him, and almost all of us made it out unharmed. Cauthrien showed up with a large detachment of troops – another reason I think it was Anora’s idea, her timing was far too good and they were waiting for us to come to them, rather than clearing the estate. I sent everyone but Alistair and I out the back, and we surrendered to Cauthrien. We were knocked out, taken to Fort Drakon, and they were going to torture and execute us until we broke out.”

Nathaniel considered what he had heard, staring into his drink. “How did he die?”

Daylen paused. “Elissa stabbed him in the gut, up under the ribs. He bled out on the floor of his own dungeon. His last words were ‘Maker spit on you. I deserved more.’ At that point, I figured he was more interested in his own advancement than that of the family or his subjects.”

Nathaniel was silent for a long time. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I know,” Daylen replied gently. “Take some time. Think about this. If you don’t quite believe me, you can send letters to people in Denerim, in Highever, wherever, so you can verify this. For what it’s worth, I’m not entirely sure he was in his right mind.”

Nathaniel scoffed. “Clearly. My father was ambitious and cunning, but he never would have condoned slavery had he been sane.”

Daylen shook his head. “I don’t mean like that. The leader of the slavers was a Tevinter blood mage, and a skilled one at that. My companions uncovered evidence of a cabal of other blood mages in the city as well, and when the Templars raided it they found numerous blood samples that were apparently linked to people of power. Loghain, your father, the Grand Cleric – they weren’t controlled directly, you see, that would be too obvious. But if you just…nudge someone a little with blood magic, it works. For example, if a man whose greatest drive is to ensure his country stays safe is nudged to be more paranoid, he might wind up dividing the country in a civil war. If a man who is ambitious – and let’s be honest, a bit greedy – has those characteristics amplified, well, he might be all right with selling elves into slavery, knocking off his liege-lord, and embezzling from the treasury. That’s one of the reasons blood magic is so insidious – when it’s skillfully applied, all of the horrible choices you’re making seem like a good idea. Nobody sees themselves as the villain in their own story. And it doesn’t excuse any of what he or Loghain did, but it does somewhat explain it.”[5]

—AOTG—

_The Vigil  
Vigil's Keep is one of the oldest settlements in Ferelden, older than Denerim and Gwaren. The barbarians who battled the Tevinter Imperium chose this location for a fortress so that their warning fires would be visible at great distance, when Tevinter ships neared the coast._

_The Vigil has seen battle in every major invasion of Ferelden. Tevinters, rival barbarian clans, and Orlesians have all held her battlements. The Vigil was the first fortress to fall to the Orlesians and the last to be freed._

_The cellar beneath Vigil's Keep retains traces of the Avvar barbarians. To the Avvars, the Vigil was both a fortress and a holy site. The cellars bear monuments to their gods, heroes, and their rare military victories._

_The Vigil's cellars connect to the Deep Roads far below. Evidence suggests the Avvars and dwarves traded in secret, a breach of promises made to the Tevinter Imperium in the days before the darkspawn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1This will in no way be important later. [ return to text ]
> 
> 2People who have replayed Origins will notice that one of the Templars at Ostagar at the mage's enclave was voiced by Anders' VA. [ return to text ]
> 
> 3Person of Interest. [ return to text ]
> 
> 4George Carlin. [ return to text ]
> 
> 5It's not possible to justify Loghain or Howe's actions, but the presence of the pack of blood mages in that underground complex in Denerim has some interesting implications. [ return to text ]


	5. The Dead Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens reclaim Kal'Hirol and make some new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The Howes of Amaranthine  
The Howes of Amaranthine are one of the oldest noble families in Ferelden. Their lineage traces to the time of Calenhad, when Elias Howe was one of the first freeholders to follow Calenhad._

_During the occupation, Arl Tarleton Howe, Rendon Howe's father, threw his lot in with the Orlesians. After several bitter battles with rebels, the town of Harper's Ford--an outpost governed by Tarleton Howe--fell to the Couslands of Highever. Tarleton hanged._

_Rendon brought the Howe family over to the side of Maric Theirin and Loghain Mac Tir's rebellion. Rendon's bravery at the battle of White River, fighting alongside Bryce Cousland, earned back his family's honor. When King Maric took the throne in free Ferelden, Rendon Howe was decorated for his service._

_\--From Annals of Northern Ferelden, by Brother Bedine, Chantry scholar_

—AOTG—

The sun was setting as they reached Vigil’s Keep again, a fresh trench dug for a new layer of walls just outside the patchwork outer wall. Voldrik was directing a handful of experienced workers, and farther inside the courtyard Garevel was running two dozen men Daylen vaguely recognized from the city or the dungeons through some training forms. Wade was hammering away in his smithy, the noise echoing across the courtyard as smoke rose from the forge’s chimney.

“The place is starting to wake back up,” Nathaniel commented as the wagon they had borrowed from Mervis came to a stop.

“It’s a start,” Daylen replied, directing an attendant to take care of the wagon and oxen. “We’ve got a long way to go before I’ll feel comfortable here. I don’t expect that the darkspawn would attack again quite so soon, but the faster we have those walls up, the safer I’ll feel.”

Voldrik whistled, walking over to Daylen. “Warden, I…I did warn you about the stone in these parts? Human masons will use whatever’s at hand. But for proper walls, you need proper stone.”

“And I’m guessing that’s not what’s available,” Daylen surmised.

“The nearest quarry has some miserable slate nonsense. I need proper granite. The darker the better. I don’t suppose…you know, in your travels?”

“I haven’t come across any yet, but I’ll keep an eye out,” Daylen promised. “Nathaniel, you have any ideas?”

“Sorry, that wasn’t something I ever learned about,” Nathaniel said. “I know a lot about this arling, but that wasn’t covered.”

The newly minted Lieutenant Maverlies was waiting outside the outbuilding to the cellars, wearing a set of new veridium armor. “Commander!”

“Ah, Lieutenant,” Daylen greeted her warmly. “Congratulations on your promotion!”

“Thank you, Ser,” the woman said, unable to contain her smile. “I appreciate your faith in me. I won’t let you down. The men have cleared the rubble. I’ve set them to work reinforcing parts of the cellars we’ve already cleared, but you’ll have to see what they’ve found for yourself.”

Daylen desperately wanted to sleep, but he could still feel the sensation of nearby darkspawn itching at the edge of his consciousness. “Let’s go, then. Anders, if you could grab Voldrik? We’ll need his help.”

—AOTG—

Daylen whistled as he looked down into the pit. “Nobody’s gone down these ladders, have they?”

“Not yet,” Maverlies replied. “It looks safe enough to climb down, but nobody wanted to be the first.”

“I figure this would go deep enough to link up with the Deep Roads,” Daylen mused.

“I knew it led to the Deep Roads,” Voldrik crowed, coming up behind them. “I could smell it.”

The Wardens quickly descended the ladders, Oghren grinning as he glanced around. “Ah, this brings back memories.”

The group set out, quickly coming across an old Avvar shrine guarded by two inert steel golems with a missing idol nearby. When reunited, a hidden compartment slid open, and Daylen’s eyes widened. “Oh, _yes_ ,” he hissed, reaching in. “Hey, Oghren, isn’t your birthday coming up?”

“In a couple months, yes. Why?”

Daylen pulled out a massive battleaxe, crafted from white steel. “Because I just found your present.”

Oghren gave a belly laugh. “Oh, you’re a sweetheart, Daylen.” He gave the axe a test swing as Daylen retrieved the other item from the cache.

“What is that?” Rowland asked, eyeing the object in Daylen’s hand.

“Watch.” Daylen fiddled with it for a moment, and the golems sprang to life, slamming their fists together. “This is a golem control rod. I don’t personally enjoy using them, but a single golem can rip through hundreds of darkspawn.”

“Aye, it’s how Orzammar held the line for a century,” Oghren added, strapping the axe across his back. “You’d be amazed at what a golem can do.”

“It’s a shame they lost the knowledge of how to make them,” Anders sighed.

“No, no, it really isn’t,” Daylen said.

Oghren’s face darkened. “Believe me. That stuff is better off lost.” Anders looked confused, but Daylen shook his head, warning him off.

Deeper inside the new section of tunnels, they found a connection to the Deep Roads, the rough-hewn tunnel suddenly flattening into the majestic paved avenues of the dwarven underground highways. A small abandoned gem mine was nearby, and Daylen made a mental note of the location as he pocketed quartz and a handful of uncut diamonds as samples. Some ancient-looking keys that looked as if they might fit the locks in the Avvar crypt upstairs went into his satchel as well next to a curious-looking elven runestone.

Unfortunately, not all of their findings were good. An Avvar spirit had been bound underneath the Keep, and was released as Daylen prodded at an instrument he didn’t recognize. The shade was exceptionally powerful, but fled after the five Wardens and two golems had roughed it up. “I’ve never seen a shade _run_ before,” Daylen warned. “It’s probably still around. Be alert, and keep an eye on your companions.”

Then they found the darkspawn. A handful of hurlocks and shrieks went down to the warrior’s blades and Nathaniel’s peerless archery, and an ogre commander was charging Daylen until he froze it in place for the entire group to attack at once. The ogre fell, barely recognizable as a darkspawn anymore, and the group barely had time to take a breath before the shade reappeared, possessing the corpse. Once it was killed again, the shade fled, Daylen growling another warning to his party.

“Nathaniel, would you make the run back and let them know we’ve found something Voldrik should see?” Daylen asked. The rogue took off, and it was only a few minutes before Maverlies, Voldrik, and a handful of gaping soldiers arrived.

Voldrik took one look at the curious mechanisms they had found and began laughing hysterically. “Commander, the ancestors favor us indeed. This is a dwarven barrier door! Before old Kal’Hirol fell, she nearly had it compete. Only the mechanism needs work. If only they’d had a bit more time to finish, Orzammar wouldn’t be all alone.”

“Can you finish what Kal’Hirol began?”

“Won’t take me long to fix up the mechanism. Poor sods were nearly done. This is proper dwarven engineering. I can jury-rig it to close now, but it’ll still need some work afterwards to make sure it stays shut.” It only took him a few minutes. “Everyone stand back.” He released a counterweight, three thick doors slamming shut in succession and sealing the Keep off from the Deep Roads. “Should buy us a few years, a decade if we’re lucky. These two golems will be mighty helpful too. Defending the Keep aside, they’re great at heavy lifting.”

“That’ll give us time to devise a more permanent solution,” Maverlies said.

“Excellent. Let’s head back.”

“Commander, a caravan arrived from Denerim while you were down here,” Maverlies warned. “Soldiers. They’re waiting in the courtyard.”

—AOTG—

The inner Avvar crypt turned out to be the final place the Wardens had to face off against the shade, as it reanimated the corpses of a trio of Avvar lords that had some excellently-preserved equipment, along with several rune tracings that appeared to be beyond anything Daylen had seen and an interesting recipe for lyrium potions that the Warden-Commander resolved to try later. A handful of workers were directed to move all of the recovered equipment and goodies upstairs where they could be examined later. Some coarsely-ground lyrium stashed in the dwarven outpost below the Keep was brought up as well, given to the pyromaniac dwarf who had nearly blown up the Keep’s entrance hall upon Daylen’s arrival. Dworkin promised to push himself to make more of the explosives, but also to use them at least somewhat responsibly.

“The whole ‘quiet and stoic’ thing must get you a lot of action, huh?” Oghren asked Nathaniel on the way back up.

The rogue raised an eyebrow. “I take it you are an admirer, Oghren?”

“What? No!” The dwarf paused. “No, well, not unless – No!”

“Good. Then I needn’t worry about getting too drunk at camp.”

The dwarf snorted. “All right, I like you. Just not in that way.”

“All right, folks,” Daylen said. “We made some good progress today, but I haven’t slept since before I got here. Everyone head up to your rooms, get some rest, be up bright and early tomorrow. We’ll head for the Knotwood Hills. If there’s a breeding ground for those darkspawn, we’ll need to take them out before they get out of control.” He paused as he heard a mighty bark. “No. It couldn’t be.” A large mabari came skidding around the corner, barking wildly. Daylen’s eyes bugged out. “Cupcake!” The dog leapt, pouncing on the Warden-Commander and licking his face. “Oh, buddy, it’s good to see you!”

“Ugh, not him again,” Oghren groaned.

Daylen wrestled his way free of the dog and pushed himself to his feet. “Oh, I missed you, you big lump.”

“You named your dog Cupcake?” Rowland asked.

“Can you think of a better name for a mighty warhound who can wrestle ogres, but turns into a big loving pile of fur and twitchy limbs if you scratch him under the chin the right way?” Daylen asked.

Rowland paused. “I…no, actually I can’t. Where’s he been?”

Daylen snickered. “Turns out, Ferelden’s population of mabari took a hard hit during the Blight. A lot of kennelmasters were very interested in bringing the bloodline of a dog that helped end the Blight into their litters. So Cupcake here has been out to stud in a big way.” The dog barked proudly as Rowland choked on laughter. “I’m surprised you can even walk, with what you’ve been up to! Oh, I’m glad you’re here, buddy. We’re going to hunt bandits over the next few days, we’ll need your nose!”

“Commander?” A soldier asked. Daylen looked up, and the man snapped to attention. “Captain Henrik, ser. King Alistair dispatched us from Denerim, to operate under your command against the darkspawn.”

Daylen grinned. “This just gets better and better. Welcome, Captain. Let’s get your men billeted. You should speak to Seneschal Varel. He’ll help you get your men situated.”

Henrik nodded, before pausing and leaning to one side, looking past Daylen. “Wait, Rowland? Is that you?”

“Henrik,” Rowland greeted him, smiling faintly. “We went through training together, Commander. After I left Bann Ceorlic’s service, I served with him in Denerim.”

“We fought in the Battle of Denerim, holding the line in the northeast end of the city,” Henrik said. “You’re a Warden now?” Rowland nodded. “Well, you always were a good fighter. Glad to see you’re making the best of your ability, mate.”

“Captain, your men could probably use a Warden on hand to help you with any darkspawn,” Daylen mused. “Rowland, what would you say to some detached service with Henrik’s company?”

Roland grinned. “I would say that’s an excellent idea, Commander. I’ll take care of the billeting, ser.”

“One other thing,” Henrik said quietly, producing a bundle from his pack. “King Alistair ordered me to give this to you personally, ser.” Daylen took the bundle, hearing a quiet clink inside. “He said ‘credit where credit is due.’ I guessed you would know what that means.”

“It means the king has a great deal of trust in you,” Daylen replied. “This is a fat sack of coin, if I don’t miss my guess.”

“Then I suppose now would be a great time to ask for a raise?” Oghren asked, taking a sip of some sort of hellish moonshine that appeared to be glowing in the fading light. “Actually, is anyone in this outfit ever going to get paid?”

“Well, that’s a large part of what this is for,” Daylen explained, shaking the bundle. “You’ll get a stipend, if the nobles pay their dues.”

“A stipend,” The dwarf snickered. “That’s good. Yeah…what’s a stipend?”

“It’s the money we pay you,” Daylen sighed.

“Money! Now that’s a word I understand. What an arrangement! You feed me, and I get to take my frustrations out on the darkspawn!” He paused, swaying slightly. “Anyway, can I have a pony?”

Daylen paused. “Sure, why not.”

“Whoa…everything’s spinning…and you’re…very shiny.” The dwarf slowly keeled over. “Gonna go sit down…now.”

Daylen looked to Anders and Nathaniel. “Can you two get him inside?”

“Sure, but if he throws up on me, I’m leaving him wherever we are at the time,” Anders replied, pulling the dwarf up with Nathaniel’s help.

Daylen settled the last of his business outside, before heading up to the throne room. “Varel, are there any other fires I need to put out?”

“No, Commander. You should get some sleep.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Daylen mumbled. “Anyone know where my room is?”

“I’ll show you,” Varel offered, leading him down a hall and opening a door to a sparsely decorated but comfortable bedroom. “I hope you don’t find the living conditions too basic for someone of your stature.”

Daylen squinted at him a moment. “Well, from the age of six until I was twenty, I lived in one of several dormitories with dozens of other apprentices. I was _going_ to move up to a room that only had two or three other mages in it after our numbers had been culled by the Harrowing. This was all spent being watched by people who could murder and abuse me and my peers on a lark, mind you. Then I got recruited into the Wardens and spent the next year and a half sleeping wherever I could lay my head. The door locks from the inside, and that puts it leagues beyond the Circle.”

Varel was staring at him. “Good night, Commander.”

“Good night, Varel.”

—AOTG—

Daylen rose with the sun the next morning, working a kink out of his neck and estimating he had gotten about six hours of sleep. Cupcake roused himself from his position by the fireplace and stretched, yawning widely.

The mage opened the door. “Go on. Try not to harass the kitchen staff for scraps.” The dog snuffled indignantly as he trotted out the door and down the hall. The daily ablutions didn’t take long – someone on the Keep’s staff had drawn a bath and left some soap, and Daylen entered the mess hall scrubbed and feeling better than he had in days.

The other Wardens were already assembled, casual conversation going around as they ate. A bowl of porridge appeared in front of Daylen as he sat down, a servant nodding respectfully as he backed away.

“Throws you a bit, doesn’t it?” Anders asked. “Having respect shown to you like that.”

Daylen smiled faintly. “Shows, doesn’t it?”

“That was how I got caught during my second escape,” Anders replied. “Didn’t make it far the first time. The second time around, I was so shocked when people who didn’t know I was a mage treated me with respect and decency that I looked suspicious.”

“So, how’d you wind up in the Circle?” Daylen asked as he dug in.

“I pulled a coin out from behind someone’s ear,” Anders replied. Daylen snorted into his porridge, and the healer grinned. “Next thing you know, the Templars are there and they refuse to believe it’s not a conjuration, even when I walked them through the trick.”

“You really do work with some odd people,” Nathaniel commented.

Daylen scoffed. “Please, you lot are relatively sane compared to the last group, right Oghren?”

The dwarf groaned. “The pike-twirler was always asking those weird questions.”

Daylen chuckled. “Oh, yes. ‘Do you think darkspawn get songs stuck in their heads?’ ‘Think about it – a mabari with _griffon wings_.’ And he was always asking them when we were trying to get some sleep.”

“And that time he wondered why we found money on those giant spiders,” Oghren sighed. “And he seriously wondered ‘was he going to the spider market? Did he have a spider wife and children and we just murdered him?’”

Daylen shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Alistair is a good man and one of the finest warriors I’ve ever fought alongside.” Oghren scoffed, and Daylen looked over. “I said _one_ of the finest! You’re on that list as well!”

“You know, for all you talked up the Joining, it wasn’t really that bad,” Oghren said. “Considering how many darkspawn I’ve fought on my own, I figured there would be more bloodshed involved.”

Daylen stared at him. “Mhairi _died_ , remember?”

“One out of four,” Anders pointed out.

“Four out of eight,” Daylen shot back. “Three men were Tainted during the attack on the Keep. None of them survived their Joining. Nathaniel’s survival means only that half died.”

“Point stands,” Anders replied. “To be honest, my Harrowing was more intense. But maybe that’s just because I went second.”

“It probably was,” Daylen admitted. “Watching Mhairi die…it wasn’t pretty. One of the recruits at my Joining, Daveth, went the same way. It’s a shame that he did, he seemed like a good man.”

Anders’ brow furrowed. “Thought you said two died at your Joining.”

“I did,” Daylen said slowly. “Ser Jory saw Daveth die, tried to back out, and drew his sword on Duncan. Duncan killed him in front of me.”

“Rather ruthless,” Nathaniel commented.

“He was a hard man,” Daylen admitted. “Jory had seen things already that meant it was too dangerous to just let him leave. But you’re right, Anders, the Harrowing was worse. I apparently set a record for the quickest and cleanest Harrowing, and it was only a few days later that I underwent the Joining. The act itself didn’t really disturb me that much – the Circle had thrown me to demons less than a week before, having to drink darkspawn blood didn’t really measure up.” Rowland, Oghren, and Nathaniel looked confused, until Anders and Daylen ran through the details of the Harrowing and the Rite of Tranquility for them. Oghren and Nathaniel were disturbed but didn’t seem surprised, but Rowland was horrified. Eventually, the Warden-Commander managed to steer the conversation around to the day’s work.

“Seneschal Varel is working with Captains Garevel and Henrik to deploy those men where they can do some good,” Daylen explained. “For the next day or so, though, they’ll be following us. We’re going to cut across to the Knotwood Hills, bandit-hunting on the way. The soldiers will be behind us to recover what they can. Rowland, you’ll be attached to their group. Take care of them for me.”

“You got it, Commander,” Rowland said firmly.

“Be sorry to lose you,” Oghren replied. “You’re good in a fight.”

Daylen nodded. “Those men will need him, in case they run into darkspawn. I’m guessing Rowland’s group will probably be deployed to the Pilgrim’s Path afterwards, but I’ll leave that decision to Varel. Kristoff will just have to look after himself.” He spooned up the last of his porridge. “Let’s move out.”

—AOTG—

The Knotwood Hills were a remote corner of the arling, relatively untouched by civilization. Daylen spotted deer moving through the trees, the odd rabbit hopping along. All the Wardens were paying careful attention for any signs of darkspawn, but even the Warden-Commander couldn’t sense any of the Tainted creatures nearby.

It didn’t take long after leaving the Keep for bandits to make themselves known. A handful of raggedy men in worn leathers or cheap mail were dispatched easily enough by the group, and Cupcake followed the scent back to their camp. With Rowland and Henrik’s group following at a distance, the stolen goods were recovered from each camp and shuttled back to Vigil’s Keep so it could be returned to whatever passed for its rightful owners. Daylen was silently grateful for Woolsey after the fourth and final wagonload of merchant goods was sent on its way back to the Keep. Sorting out what went to who would have been a nightmare.

When the Wardens reached the spot Colbert had marked on the map, Daylen pulled the wagon to a halt, signaling Nathaniel and Anders silently as Oghren dismounted. “I can feel darkspawn about,” he warned. “Not close, but they’re out there. Keep alert.”

The chasm was in fact where Colbert and Micah had said it would be. Oghren peered over the edge, snorting. “Well, what do you know? Looks like someone built a section of the Deep Roads too near the surface. And they did build a bridge across and some stairs down.”

The first hostile creatures they encountered were a bereskarn and several murderers who had just finished the act. Nathaniel cut down the body as Daylen kicked the corpse of their leader in the head again. The rogue pulled off the note that had been nailed to the body’s chest and read it aloud. “This is what happens to filthy adulterers.” He untied the dead man’s hands and removed the noose. “How civilized.”

“We’re going down into that?” Anders asked as they crossed the bridge. “Figures. Ooh, it’s an unstable, crumbling chasm! Let’s go play in it!”

“Fair warning, when I found a tombstone that had a revenant sealed away inside it, I went and poked it with a stick,” Daylen replied, following the path down to the staircase. “These sorts of things just tend to happen around me.”

“And I signed up for this,” Anders marveled.

Daylen paused at the top of the stairs, turning to Anders and grinning. “Don’t worry. Everyone usually makes it out alive.”

So, naturally, that was the moment the wooden platform creaked, groaned, and collapsed under the Warden-Commander’s weight. A plume of dust went up as the old beams and boards caved in, the mage disappearing among the cloud as he fell.

“Maker’s breath,” Nathaniel gasped. “Commander!”

A few long moments passed and Cupcake whined worriedly, before pained coughing could be heard. “Ow.”

“Daylen?” Oghren shouted down. “Are you all right?”

“My leg’s broken and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a nail up my arse, but I’m alive,” Daylen called back. “I’m going to start healing it. You get back to the wagon and get a rope, we’ll need it.” Groaning, he reached down and pulled the rusty nail out of the back of his upper thigh, pulling out his flask and grunting in pain as he rinsed the wound with alcohol. Healing the injury with a quick burst of magic, Daylen took a long pull on the flask and set to work healing his other leg.

By the time the rope dropped down next to them, Daylen’s injuries were healed and he had emptied the flask. “Back in one piece?” Ander asked, stepping out of the way. Nathaniel landed next to him, Oghren bringing up the rear.

“Yeah,” Daylen replied, patting dust out of his beard. “But next time, someone else goes first.” Cupcake came skidding down the loose dirt on the side of the chasm, and the hound pounced on Daylen, licking his face. “Oh, oh, buddy, don’t worry. I’m all right.” He stood unsteadily, grimacing as he put weight on his leg.

A pack of deepstalkers had been attracted by the noise and were quickly put down by the group, Nathaniel and Anders alarmed at the bizarre creatures’ faces. In the process, Daylen found and retrieved the bag that Micah had lost, stuffing it into his satchel and trying to ignore the smell. The sensation of nearby darkspawn was getting stronger, and Daylen signaled his men to fall in, the Wardens creeping down the length of the chasm towards the darkness of the Deep Roads ahead. As they came around the corner, they spotted several darkspawn dragging a struggling dwarf back towards the Deep Roads. The dwarf managed to kick her way free of the hurlock’s grasp and made a break for it, scooping a dropped axe up off the floor and falling into a defensive stance.

With only four darkspawn against the four Wardens and the newcomer dwarf, the fight didn’t take long. Oghren was wiping off his blade as the other dwarf turned to them, a smile spreading across her face. “Well, that was…close. For a moment there I thought I was _really_ about to join the Legion of the Dead.”

“You all right?” Daylen asked.

“I might have cracked a rib, but it’s hard to be sure,” the dwarf replied, pulling off her helmet. Daylen spotted a casteless brand and the same tattoos he had seen on members of the Legion of the Dead, and he nodded respectfully. “Everything hurts.”

“Anders?” Daylen said.

“I got it,” the healer replied, cracking his knuckles and swiping a thumb across the dwarf’s jaw, healing a scrape without even thinking about it. The dwarf stood up straighter as a bolus of healing magic rushed through her. “Yes, that rib was definitely broken.”

The dwarf groaned. “Oh, that’s better. Thank you!”

“What’s a Legionnaire doing this far from Orzammar?” Daylen asked, watching the entrance to the Deep Roads warily.

“I’d love to explain, but I can’t chat for long. I should probably go back…as foolish as that sounds…see if there’s anything I can do.”

“Back where?” Daylen pressed. “What’s the Legion doing out here?”

“The old fortress of Kal’Hirol,” she explained. “There’s something going on there. I think the darkspawn are breeding an army. The Legion went to investigate, but Kal’Hirol proved too much for us. It was a massacre. And now I…I’m the only one left.”

“That’s it,” Daylen realized. “This _is_ their breeding ground.” He looked to his companions. “Those darkspawn must be eradicated.”

The Legionnaire scoffed. “That’s what we thought. ‘Oh, we’ll just run in there, eradicate the darkspawn, and be back in time for supper.’ Well, whoops. The darkspawn have changed, they’re smart now. They destroyed the Legion. I saw them taking some of the women and I wasn’t about to stick around for _that_.”

Daylen winced. “Well, we can handle the smart darkspawn, we’ve been doing it a while now. If you need some help, we’ll avenge the Legion with you, but either way, we’re going in to kill those bastards.”

The dwarf stared at him. “Did I mention Kal’Hirol was a death trap? Why would you want to do this?”

“Well, I don’t really have anything else to do today,” Daylen mused. “And we’re Grey Wardens.”

The dwarf nodded in understanding. “Ah. My condolences. You happen to know that Warden that killed the Archdemon?”

“I know him quite well, in fact,” Daylen replied. “I’m him. Daylen Amell. This is Nathaniel, Anders, you may recognize Oghren over there, and the big dog is Cupcake. Don’t worry, he’s friendly unless you’re a darkspawn.” The mabari whuffed happily and sat at attention, stumpy tail thumping against the stone.

“My name is Sigrun. Pleased to meet all of you. Well, let’s not waste time. Kal’Hirol awaits, and darkspawn, when left to their own devices, get up to all kinds of nonsense.”

“Talk to me,” Daylen said as they entered the Deep Roads. “Is Kal’Hirol one of the lost thaigs?”

“No, it was a fortress, but it had a permanent population,” Sigrun replied quietly. “I don’t know much about the place, except what the others from the Legion told me. It used to be important, a center of learning for the smith caste. When the fortress was lost, during the First Blight, a lot of what the smiths had learned was lost with it. They’ve never built anything quite like Kal’Hirol since.”

“That sounds promising,” Daylen murmured. Sigrun looked confused, and Daylen shook his head. “It’s a long story. Basically, a permanent dwarven residence under this arling would be good for trade. I sort of fell into running things in this area.”

“Well, that’s something you’d have to sort out with the king, but I can’t see why they wouldn’t be interested,” Sigrun allowed.

“Oghren,” Daylen asked, looking around, “does the Shaperate have records on how the Deep Roads and the thaigs were constructed?”

“Some of the information was lost during the First Blight,” the dwarf replied. “We do tunnels, sure, but nothing like this. Generally we stay put. No point in digging if all you’re going to find is more darkspawn.”

“Shame,” the mage murmured. “I'd love to know how they keep it dry.”

“Dry?” Nathaniel asked, shaking out a wet boot. “It's rather damp down here.”

“Anyone from the Mining Caste can tell you that the biggest enemy to a tunneler is water,” Oghren explained. “Doesn't matter how tough your tunnels are. Underground springs, aquifers, even the water seeping down from the surface after it rains. The first two things you install in a tunnel are vents and a pump, so you can breathe and so you don't drown.”

“Shh!” Sigrun hissed. “If you are so intent on announcing our arrival to the darkspawn, maybe you should’ve brought a trumpet!”

“Anders, do you have a trumpet handy?” Daylen asked.

“Left it in the wagon,” the mage sighed. “Should I go get it?”

As they entered the caverns, Daylen closed his eyes and took a slow breath, trying to keep his heart rate from jumping.

“You all right, Daylen?” Oghren asked, nudging him in the hip.

Daylen scrubbed at his forehead, wondering where all the sweat had come from. “Great. Wonderful. Get me out of here.”

“What’s wrong?” Anders asked.

“I don’t do well in tight spaces like this,” Daylen answered, gesturing to the ceiling. “Caves, tunnels, caverns, not really my favorite.”

“Yet you became a Warden, knowing that they fight darkspawn underground,” Anders said dryly.

“My recruiter didn’t exactly give me a choice, and it was that or face the Circle's wretched idea of justice,” Daylen rasped, taking a pull on a waterskin. “Besides, I had no idea I was going to have this issue until we went to Orzammar.”

Oghren rolled his eyes. “Boss, don’t bother with that stuff. Here.” He passed over a bottle, and Daylen took a swig, coughing at the burn. “Should take the edge off.” Daylen nodded his thanks, and Oghren took the bottle back, tucking it away.

Anders stopped, sniffing the air. He spoke quietly, his voice tight and dramatic.  _”_ Do you feel that? My magic-sensitive nose is tingling.”

Oghren looked over in surprise. “Get off. Really?”

Anders continuedin the same tone. “It can also detect gullible morons.”

Daylen interrupted before the two could bicker more. “There’s definitely more darkspawn about, and they’re close.” Cupcake snuffled an alert, and Daylen followed the hound down the path to where a critically injured dwarf lay.

Sigrun broke into a run as she spotted him. “It’s Jukka. He’s hurt. Bad.”

The dwarf looked up, trying to hold his intestines in. “Sigrun?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Sigrun replied, trying to stop the bleeding. “Be still and try not to talk…”

“Hang on,” Daylen urged, kneeling next to the dwarf. “We can heal this.”

“No, I feel my death upon me. And it is a sweet release…” The dwarf coughed as Daylen rolled up his sleeves. “You must listen. The broodmothers. They are breeding. I saw an…an army. You must stop them. But beware the Children. They are abominations, even among darkspawn.”

 “My goodness, people are in a hurry to give up in this place,” Daylen groused, hitting the Legionnaire with a pulse of healing magic alongside Anders. Jukka gasped as his flesh knitted back together. “You may be Legion of the Dead, but someone’s got to report back. On your feet, Legionnaire!”

Jukka groaned as he stood slowly, and Daylen hit him with another healing spell and a rejuvenation spell, frowning as he felt the Taint in the dwarf’s veins. “I…how?”

“We’re skilled healers,” Daylen replied. “And Grey Wardens. Sigrun was lucky enough to run into us when we arrived, looking for a rumored darkspawn breeding ground.”

“Well, it’s here,” Jukka said harshly. “They must be destroyed.”

“That’s what we intend to do. Fall in. What’s this about children?”

“The Children,” Jukka replied. “They are strange creatures, like we have never seen before. They tear into darkspawn and dwarves alike…abominations, truly.”

“Great,” Daylen groaned, stopping short and glaring at the path ahead. “Hold on.” Drawing his staff, he lobbed a fireball at a curve in the road, several genlocks lying in wait screaming as the flames scorched them. Nathaniel turned, dropping a pair of shrieks with arrows through the neck as they tried to catch the group from behind, and the group ripped apart the darkspawn ambush, fighting their way towards the gates of Kal’Hirol. Daylen paused long enough to loot, making sure that neither Sigrun nor Jukka were watching when he did.

More darkspawn ahead fell to fireballs and steel, and the group paused in the courtyard outside the gates of the fortress, spotting dwarven and darkspawn corpses scattered about. “The Legion got this far without trouble,” Sigrun explained. “We got careless, and complacent, and stormed the main entrance, up those stairs.”

“It was a disaster,” Jukka said. “The darkspawn were waiting. They turned the thaig’s old defenses against us.”

“Traps?” Daylen asked.

“Traps, a handful of old golems,” Jukka replied. “We didn’t get far, there may be other problems inside.”

“Golems we can handle,” Daylen said. Oghren nodded, although his eyes were dark. “You think there’s a side entrance?”

“Most of the old dwarven fortresses had hidden side entrances,” Jukka explained. “I bet this one does too. We just need to find it. Sigrun? You’re good at that sort of thing.”

Sigrun smiled widely. “I’ll give it a try.” Jukka gave her a warm look as she began hunting along the wall, and Daylen exchanged a knowing glance with Oghren.

As Daylen scouted alongside the opposite wall, looking for a hidden catch or lever, bizarre insect-like creatures the size of small dogs scurried from the shadows and attacked. Anders howled in pain as one began savaging his leg, and Oghren’s axe bisected the creature as Nathaniel’s arrows deflected off another’s carapace. “These are the Children!” Jukka shouted, crushing one with his mace and catching one that had flung itself bodily at him on his shield.

A combination of magic and a hasty melee defense put the last of the grubs down, and Daylen knelt over one of the more intact ones, examining it. “It’s definitely darkspawn, but I’ve never seen anything like it before,” he pronounced.

“You think it's dead?” Sigrun asked, reaching out to prod the dead darkspawn.

Daylen caught her wrist. “It's a trick. Get an axe.” A hard blow from Oghren's axe brought a squeal from the creature, and another blow finished it off for good. “Don't touch darkspawn directly if you can avoid it, Sigrun.”[1]

“I’ll say this, you lot can handle yourselves in a fight,” Jukka said.

“Warden mages have a very simple problem-solving method,” Daylen said. “Reach out and _torch_ someone.”

“So do I,” Oghren added. “Apply axe directly to the problem...repeatedly.”

The Legionnaire snorted. “Aye, that’ll do. Sigrun?”

“Over here,” the dwarf called, pulling on a hidden lever. A section of the wall slid down into the earth, and Daylen grinned at the sight.

“Secret doors,” Oghren said. “Useful for sneaking out without the wife noticing.”

“I once started a rumor about secret passages in the tower,” Anders confided. “Had the templars pressing their noses to the walls for months. Hilarious!”

“That was you?” Daylen asked. “We thought the Templars had all gotten hold of a bad batch of lyrium.”

The side entrance spilled out into the front hall of the fortress, and the group spotted several hurlocks and a single genlock stomping towards them. Daylen’s eyes widened as he recognized what the genlock was holding, and he shouted an order to Nathaniel as he cast a hasty spell. A hurlock emissary died instantly, the genlock dropping a moment later with an arrow through its forehead. The rest went down easily enough between the three dwarves in the party, and Anders and Cupcake brought up the rear as Nathaniel prodded at the dead genlock. “Any reason you wanted this one dead so badly?”

“This,” Daylen replied, holding up a thin rod. “A golem control rod.”

“You plan on activating some?” Jukka asked.

“I fought alongside one during the Blight,” Daylen explained. “One could probably clear this fortress. If there’s more than one…well, I’ll send a letter to Bhelen explaining why I’m making off with them.” Jukka snorted out a laugh as they backtracked into the entrance hall, Sigrun and Nathaniel disarming pressure-plate traps that were liberally scattered across the floor. A quartet of stone golems awoke at Daylen’s command, and the Warden grinned widely at the sight. “Oh, this is going to be _good_.” Two more were activated as they descended a set of stairs into the main hall of Kal’Hirol, and Daylen directed one back behind them, to guard the entrance of the fortress.

Up ahead, looping scenes of spectral dwarves fighting darkspawn awaited them, and Daylen shook his head. “This stuff always unsettles me.”

“You’ve seen this before?” Anders asked.

“A few times. Never stops being creepy.” The specters provided insight to the end of the fortress, however. A dwarf tried to rally some casteless dwarves against the darkspawn, most of the rest of the population having simply left ahead of the darkspawn advance. More darkspawn were ahead, along with surprisingly large amounts of loot and lore, including some rune tracings that Daylen immediately pocketed. A tomb with the ancient armor made and used by the Paragon Hirol, who the thaig was named for, was immediately tagged by the Warden for use or return to Orzammar. Daylen was confused by the strange material the armor was made from until Jukka explained.

“It’s volcanic aurum,” he said. “Not sure what some of it is, but it’s alloyed with silverite. Stuff is incredibly resilient, bizarrely light, and ridiculously expensive.” He gave Daylen an irritated look. “The secret of making it was lost with Kal’Hirol.”

“It’s about your size,” Daylen offered. “We’ve got a smith back at the Keep who could fit it to you.”

The dwarf shrugged. “Wouldn’t be right. Besides, I’m Legion. We get our armor issued to us.”

Daylen paused. “Look, I didn’t want to bring this up just yet, but you’re Tainted. I can sense it.” The dwarf grimaced, reaching for a dagger at his belt. “Becoming a Warden can save you, but if you do, you’re sticking with the Grey Wardens. We’re short on numbers and I can use every fighter I can get.”

Jukka gave him a long look. “I’ll think about it.”

Daylen nodded. “You do that. Meantime…” He turned to one of the golems. “Would you please take this back to the entrance?” The golem picked up the loot surprisingly gently, and the group pushed on, Daylen gingerly scooping some more lyrium sand into a pouch and stowing it away.

It was in the Trade Quarter of the fortress that things got _interesting_.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Anders commented, watching a hurlock brutally stab another.

“Darkspawn will kill each other if left to their own devices,” Jukka replied. “But this…is different.”

“This,” Daylen said, pointing at the darkspawn fighting amongst themselves. “This is what Wardens both hope for and dread.”

“They dread darkspawn fighting each other?” Anders asked.

“Yes,” Daylen replied. “If the darkspawn are smart enough to form factions like that, that's bad news. Warbands are one thing, but if they’ve got colored equipment like that? Not a good thing. On the other hand, it means fewer darkspawn that we have to kill, so there's an upside.”

One of the darkspawn howled an order. “Press the attack! Go! The Lost is mine!”

“Oh, shit, it’s another one,” Daylen breathed.

“It _talks_?” Sigrun asked.

“We ran into one before,” Oghren explained. “They’re new.”

“This is bad,” Jukka said. “They talk now?”

“Some seem to be more intelligent than others,” Daylen explained, mustering his mana. “They operate as leaders. Not all of them are capable of speech, but these ones _especially_ need to die.” He released the spell, and a firestorm scoured the stone clean, incinerating the darkspawn waging war on one another below them. As they explored farther into the fortress, they found the final resting place of the warrior who had rallied the casteless and recovered his weapons, along with a tablet listing the names of those who had taken up arms to defend the fortress.

“May the Stone remember the defenders of Kal’Hirol,” Sigrun read, “who were born casteless and died warriors. ‘Died warriors?’ He…he wanted them to be remembered as warriors. _Warrior Caste._ And he carved their names in this tablet. All of them.”

“We can’t leave this here,” Oghren, Daylen, and Sigrun all said at the same time.

“Well, glad to see you’re in agreement,” Jukka chuckled.

“We have to find some way to honor the memory of those who died here,” Sigrun urged.

“I’m not arguing,” Daylen replied. “Let’s clear the fortress, see what else we can find, and we’ll send a letter to Bhelen or something and have him send a convoy for this.”

“Awfully familiar with our king, aren’t you?” Jukka asked warily.

“He’s the reason Bhelen got the throne,” Oghren grunted.

Jukka’s eyes widened, and he looked to Sigrun. “Is he…”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I know, right?”

Daylen ignored the byplay, leading the group away from the shrine and towards more darkspawn. When the last hurlock stopped twitching under the golem’s foot, the party paused and goggled at the finds. An automated smithy run by a steel golem was clearly impressive, along with a cart full of iron ore that the dwarves examined and pronounced to be of extremely high quality, but Daylen and Anders were almost cackling over several containers of glowing blue material.

“Is this lyrium?” Nathaniel asked. “I’ve heard of it.”

“I’ve never seen so much pure, refined lyrium in one place,” Daylen whispered. “One container like this? I mean, Maker’s breath. I smuggled a box about a third of this size to the Circle during the Blight, and that was sixty sovereigns worth of _raw_ lyrium. And there’s a good five more containers.”

“Why is it so valuable?” Nathaniel asked.

“The Chantry has a monopoly on all lyrium that the dwarves mine. They kill anyone who tries to get around it,” Anders explained. “Mages use it to amplify their magic.”

“And Templars get a dose to keep them under the Chantry’s thumb,” Daylen added. Anders looked confused. “You know how I said King Alistair was trained as a Templar? He never used lyrium, but he can Smite as hard as any Templar I’ve ever seen. And he taught Oghren how to do it too.”

“It tickles a bit,” Oghren supplied helpfully.

“The lyrium supposedly boosts their powers, but Alistair seemed to think it was just there as a leash.” He looked down at the vessel again. “This much lyrium could supply a Circle’s worth of mages or Templars for a _year_. Lyrium smuggling for the dwarves is incredibly profitable, and a cutthroat business.”

“You thinking of going into business?” Anders asked. “I’ve always fancied life as a lyrium smuggler. Maybe I’ll wear a dashing chapeau!”

“What’s a chapeau?” Daylen asked.

“A hat. A nice hat.”

“Never underestimate the power of a nice hat,” Nathaniel echoed.

“I used to be a good little Andrastian,” Anders said. “I said my prayers, repented my sins, all of it.”

“Sounds familiar,” Daylen murmured.

“It could have been worse,” Anders admitted. “I could have been made Tranquil, haggling over the price of a wand. Or I could be with the Qunari. I hear they leash their mages. Or I could be dead. Dead’s bad.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to be with the Qunari,” Daylen replied. “Instead, you’re a Grey Warden.”

“Right! Death to the darkspawn! Rah.” The mage still seemed less than thrilled with his current situation. “A related question: What do Grey Wardens do when there aren’t darkspawn running amok? I mean, are there parties? Do we travel the world? Take over small kingdoms?”

Daylen paused. “Those sound like a good start, really. If you’d like to travel after this is over, I’m sure I could write out a pass or whatever so people know you’re traveling on ‘Warden business.’ Honestly, you could do pretty much whatever you wanted to do.”

Anders’ face lit up. “Ah, you are a scholar and a gentleman. Me, I intend to take up knitting. I’ll send a scarf to the Templar commander ever Satinalia.”

Daylen patted down his pack. “I actually snagged one from the Chantry…here.” He passed over the scarf, and Anders began chuckling as he tucked it away.

Another section of the fortress’s smithy had an anvil that Oghren recognized. “Must be pretty old,” He said. “They make them differently these days. Branka once explained it to me but I’ll be a nug’s uncle if I can remember what she said, crazy harpy.” He sighed.

“You all right?” Daylen asked.

“Yeah, this thing just reminded me of Branka, that’s all. Look, Daylen, I know she’s gone. I _know_ it. But sometimes I…” he shook his head. “Ah, sod it.”

“I understand,” Daylen said quietly.

“I know you do.” He grunted. “Look at me, whimpering like a wet box of kittens. Let’s go make paste out of some darkspawn.”

Farther in, a looter infected with the Taint had taken refuge in a cage and begged them for release, offering what he had stolen in exchange. Daylen shook his head. “You’re infected with the Taint, mate. I can sense it. You do have a chance, though.”

“What is it? I’ll take it! Anything!”

“Becoming a Grey Warden can save you from the Taint, but it’s risky,” Daylen warned. “It’s either certain death in a bit when the Taint turns you into a ghoul, or a possible death sooner when you join the Wardens.”

“I’ll join!” The man declared immediately. “Just let me out of here!”

“Head to the entrance, wait by the golem that’s there,” Daylen ordered, unlocking the cage. “And don’t go looting anything else.”

More of the Children waited beyond, ripping into living and dead darkspawn. The grubs abruptly sprouted limbs, and Daylen reflexively hosed down the entire tunnel with ice, freezing them in place. “All right, from now on, we burn the bodies as we go,” he said faintly as the others smashed the frozen darkspawn to pieces. The group paused long enough to check the treasury for loot before pushing into the lower reaches of the fortress.

When they reached the end of a long hallway, they found two of the talking darkspawn having a strenuous disagreement with each other. Unfortunately, one had an enormous modified golem on his side.

“Daylen?” Anders asked quietly. “Why is the golem on fire?”

The Warden-Commander was watching in horror. “The Architect sends many, but does not come himself!” the darkspawn Daylen concluded must be named The Lost said. “He is a coward!” The golem seized the other darkspawn by the torso, holding him up. “I will kill you, and he will know that he has failed to destroy the Lost. He will know that the Mother will tear him apart.” At his word, the golem snapped the other darkspawn’s spine, before tearing it in half easily, blood fountaining across the stone.

“Note to self, don’t let that thing grab you,” Daylen said faintly. “As if that wasn’t obvious already.”

The Lost growled. “Who comes now? I can feel you, but you are no darkspawn! What trickery is he planning? You will die, as all who serve the Architect will die! The Mother demands it!” Before Daylen could respond and try to baffle the darkspawn, the group attacked, the golems the Wardens had activated struggling with the far larger and enhanced steel golem The Lost commanded. Anders and Daylen engaged the darkspawn, who revealed itself to be an emissary when he blew a hole through Daylen’s gut with a bolt of lightning, the magic tearing through his concealed armor. Sigrun went sailing by with two shattered legs as Daylen hit the ground, and Jukka’s mace shattered the darkspawn’s knee as he flanked it. Nathaniel’s arrow caught the darkspawn in the neck as Oghren’s axe cleaved into the golem’s leg, and Anders hit the emissary with a bolt of lightning to finish it off.

The inferno golem hit the ground in pieces, and Sigrun cried out as Daylen’s magic reoriented the bones in her legs. Anders practically sprinted across the room, skidding to a halt next to the two. He looked her over quickly, before turning to the dazed Warden-Commander.

“Check Sigrun first,” Daylen gasped, trying to keep pressure on the wound in his side.

“I already did, she’s fine,” Anders snapped. “You’re bleeding to death. That’s like the first thing they teach a healer, Daylen, you heal yourself before turning your attention to your companion.”

“Yeah, yeah, trying to hold my guts in here.” Anders set to work healing him, and Jukka paused long enough to loot The Lost’s body before smashing its head open to make sure it was dead.

“That was an inferno golem,” Jukka explained, glancing at the still-glowing pieces of the golem. “The armor is nearly impenetrable, but the golem itself has been enhanced. It was something pioneered – and lost – here at Kal’Hirol.”

“Too bad it’s dead,” Daylen scowled. “That thing probably could have cleared a fair amount of the Deep Roads by itself.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Sigrun said, pushing herself to her feet. “Maybe there’s more around here.”

“That’s a bright side?” Daylen asked.

Sigrun shrugged. “He must have been protecting the broodmothers. Now we just have to put an end to them, and whatever these darkspawn were planning.” Daylen stood slowly, his body still aching, and gave Anders a grateful nod. The armor Sigrun had been wearing was badly damaged from her flight across the chamber, and Daylen could feel a ragged hole in his armor underneath his robes.

Cupcake paused to sniff the air, before growling. “I smell it too,” Daylen said. “We’re almost there.”

Nathaniel’s face twisted. “What _is_ that?”

“A broodmother,” Sigrun replied.

“You know how you said you’d never seen a female darkspawn?” Daylen asked. “You’re about to. Mind the tentacles. Freeze them, or paralyze them, then sever them.”

“Tentacles?” Anders echoed, his voice an octave higher than normal.

The tentacles erupted from the muck at their feet shortly afterwards, but with several veterans and the golems on their side the party wasn’t delayed long. Daylen paused to incinerate the horrific flesh, noxious smoke collecting at the top of the tunnel.

“What _is_ this stuff?” Nathaniel asked, watching some of it squirm.

“Part of the broodmother, I think,” Oghren said. “You think this is bad? Just wait.”

“Darkspawn reproduce by kidnapping women of other races,” Daylen explained, his face pale. “The darkspawn are all male. They drag women off underground, torture and gang-rape them until they’re thoroughly Tainted. They…transform, for lack of a better word. They’re twisted into these enormous, mindless creatures that pump out more darkspawn.” Nathaniel and Anders were standing stock-still in mute horror. “Yeah. Oghren, I hope you have a lot of alcohol on you, because my flask is empty and we’re all going to need several dozen drinks after this.”

“So those Wardens that went missing…” Anders realized.

“None of them were women,” Daylen said. “I checked.”

The tunnel opened up to another chamber ahead, and the stench grew thicker. A pit loomed in the center of the chamber, and Daylen steeled himself for fresh nightmares as he heard screeching, moaning, and cries of desperation echoing off the stone walls. An enormous chunk of pure lyrium was suspended above them for reasons unclear. “Stay back,” he warned. “Let’s…you all just stay back.”

He regretted looking. Deep in the pit, three fully-transformed Broodmothers were waiting, but others – humans and dwarves – were in the pit as well, half-buried under a writhing swarm of darkspawn. Daylen closed his eyes, exhaled, and counted to four, before turning and returning to the others. “Sigrun.”

The dwarf was white as a sheet. “Yes?”

“Is there some sort of protocol if a Legionnaire is captured by the darkspawn?”

“Better dead than life as a broodmother,” Sigrun and Jukka said together.

“I thought so.”

Her next question came out as a whisper. “How many are down there?”

Daylen’s eyes were burning, and it wasn’t from the smell. “ _I can’t tell_.”

Jukka swallowed hard. “Kill them all. It’s a mercy at this point.”

Daylen nodded. “Keep back. That chunk of lyrium – you think that would kill them all?” Jukka nodded. “Anders, come with me. For your own sake…don’t look in the pit.” The healer followed him, and Daylen stopped at the entrance to the chamber. “I’m going to freeze the chains. We’ll shatter them together, then run for it. All right?” Anders nodded silently, and Daylen crept out into the chamber, freezing the ancient metal chains as quietly as he could and desperately trying to block out the sights, sounds, and smells around him. When he returned, the Warden-Commander studiously ignored the trembling in his hands. “Together.”

When the chains shattered and the lyrium bomb dropped, the two mages turned together and sprinted for distance, the force of the blast knocking them off their feet and sending them sprawling. Even facing away, they could see the blue-white flash, the intensity nearly blinding. Daylen returned to the chamber and cast a firestorm into the remains, Anders dropping a tempest atop it while trying to look away.

When it was finally over, Daylen closed his eyes and mumbled a prayer under his breath, not believing but hoping that the dead could rest easy.

“At this point,” he said quietly, “I think we have claim to every scrap of treasure in this place. We’ll send the important stuff to Orzammar – the tablet, word about the casteless who fought, an invitation to move in here if they’ll trade with the surface – but the rest of it? Oh, the Wardens are taking it _all_.”

“Seems only fitting,” Jukka replied.

“If the rest of the Legion were alive, I know…” Sigrun rubbed her face. “I know they would honor you in some way.”

“I’m sorry so many had to die,” Daylen replied.

“I used to wish I could get away from the others,” Sigrun admitted. “Now I just want them back. Silly, isn’t it? I’m even losing Jukka here.”

“Why don't you join us? Would you consider coming along?” Daylen asked.

“Go…with you?” The dwarf seemed skeptical. “But that would go against my vow – and my plan to disappear into the Deep Roads, unmourned and forgotten.”

“I’m looking for Wardens. You’re a good fighter, Sigrun. We could use you.”

A pause as Sigrun considered it. “Be a Grey Warden _and_ a Legionnaire? Can I even  _do_  that?”

“You could be the first,” Daylen suggested. “And I know Jukka would be happy if you came along. You smell nicer than Oghren.” The berserker belched shamelessly in response. “I love you too, Oghren.”

“I’d be more effective at killing darkspawn, wouldn’t I,” Sigrun realized. “How does one say no to this?”

“Hopefully you don’t,” Daylen replied.

Most of the rest of the day was spent stripping the fortress clean of valuables and equipment and loading it into the wagons. The automated smithy was left where it was, but almost everything else that wasn’t nailed down was loaded up. Anders and Daylen lit the way back to the Keep with wisps, and with the golems following behind they made quite the procession coming down the North Road towards the Keep.

A merchant was happy to see the group, especially once they rescued her from the bandits who were ambushing her. She fell in with the convoy and the wagons made it to the Keep without further trouble.

Sigrun was fascinated by the stars, and Daylen happily talked with her on the way up to the throne room. “All I'm saying is it’s how you look at it,” Daylen was saying. “Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things. Save people, maybe even the world.”[2]

“You’ve convinced me,” Sigrun replied. “I _want_ to be a Warden.”

“Well, once you and Jukka go through the Joining, we’ll get you set up with some better armor. Legion issue is good, but dragonbone is better.” Daylen looked to Varel. “Scratch one darkspawn breeding ground. Also, we found a dwarven fortress, several golems I want to use to defend the Keep and bolster our forces, a tremendous amount of loot to pour into the arling, and most importantly, some information.”

“Excellent, Commander.”

“I’ll go over it with you in the morning, but in the meantime we have three new recruits to undergo the Joining, and I need to speak with Master Wade.”

“Commander,” Varel said. “A package arrived for you today, from the Kirkwall Circle of Magi.”

“Excellent,” Daylen said, accepting the package. “I've been waiting for these. Can you speak with Mistress Woolsey about what we recovered while I prepare the Joining potion?”

It didn’t take long to make the potion this time around, and Jukka, Sigrun, and the looter Steafan were all waiting. Steafan was nervously shifting back and forth, and Daylen gave him a reassuring nod.

“Few words are spoken at the Joining,” Daylen pronounced, holding the Joining chalice. “Ritual words, spoken at each Joining, spoken since the first. Nathaniel, as the junior Warden present, would you do the honors?”

The rogue cleared his throat. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you.”

Daylen held out the chalice. “From this moment forth, Sigrun, you are a Grey Warden.”

The rogue took the chalice. “Then let it be.” She drank, collapsing a moment later. Jukka looked worried, but Varel checked her over.

“You chose her well, Commander. She will wake shortly.”

“From this moment forth, Jukka, you are a Grey Warden.”

“Bring it on,” the dwarf growled, taking a gulp from the chalice and wiping his mouth. He collapsed before he finished, falling into Varel’s grasp.

Varel felt for a pulse. “Another survivor. Excellent.”

“Are you sure?” Steafan asked nervously.

“This is how you survive,” Daylen replied softly. “I wish there was another way.” The man nodded. “From this moment forth, Steafan, you are a Grey Warden.” The man drank, and a moment later collapsed to both Daylen and Varel’s surprise. Daylen checked him over and shrugged. “I have to admit, I didn’t think he would survive. But here he is, alive.”

“Does he have any training?”

Daylen shook his head. “Not that I saw, but he snuck past packs of darkspawn, so I’m guessing he’s got some ability. Put him through basic skirmishing with the recruits, we’ll see how he does.” He corralled Nathaniel. “Can you run them through the basics of being a Warden while I go attend to other business?”

“Certainly.”

It didn’t take long to settle things in the courtyard. The lyrium sand was passed on to Dworkin. Herren was overjoyed by the iron ore and recovered armor and weaponry, most of which went immediately into the Warden armory. Wade was examining a chunk of the armor recovered from the inferno golem.

“Very unique, very rare,” he pronounced. “I can make a set of armor from this that would be just about impenetrable.” He scribbled out a list. “Here’s what I will need.” Daylen skimmed it and nodded. “Most of this we have here already. I’ll send word to have it brought here.”

Dworkin and Voldrik were almost giddy over the tablet from Kal’Hirol. “Orzammar must know how the casteless of Kal’Hirol acquitted themselves in their final hours,” Voldrik was saying.

“Casteless bearing arms,” Dworkin scoffed. “Oh, _that’ll_ go over well.”

“Those casteless are heroes,” Voldrik argued. “It must be recorded by the Shaperate.” He looked to Daylen. “Thank you, Commander. We’ll see this is delivered into the right hands.”

“Good. I have a kidnapped girl to rescue.” Rounding up Cupcake, Anders, and Oghren didn’t take long, and the group ventured out to the forlorn cove where the exchange was supposed to take place.

The kidnappers were hiding out in the ruins of an ancient watchtower that looked out over the ocean, and Daylen whistled, catching their attention as he strode towards the camp, his hands raised. “Evening!”

“Another step and poor lady Eileen dies,” their apparent leader snapped. “Where’s Lord Bensley? The deal was he’d give us the money himself.”

“Bensley sent me to take care of this,” Daylen replied. “Sorry about the change. I’m here to make sure things go smoothly. I realize you lot want your money rather badly.”

“Right we do,” the man sneered. Daylen noted took a silent count of the men as Cupcake growled quietly. “Where is it?”

“Oh, I’ve got it,” Daylen said calmly, lowering his hands. “But you understand, I have to know that Eileen is alive before I hand it over. You want your money, I want to get Eileen back alive.”

“She’s fine. For now. We ain’t taken what we want, _yet_.”

Daylen’s face twitched. “You won’t see so much as a copper until I see the girl.”

“Hawk, show her,” the man grunted. Another one of the kidnappers roughly pulled a woman out from behind a wrecked wall, the woman’s face stained with tears and dirt. “Hand over the gold, now, or I’ll cut her throat!”

“Listen to me, you waste of flesh,” Daylen hissed as Oghren quietly drew his crossbow, keeping Anders between him and the kidnappers to hide his actions. “You so much as bruise her and I will crack your head open like a boiled egg and use your skull as a _fucking soup bowl_!”

“Yeah? You and what army?”

“ _I am an army_! Lord Bensley sent the Commander of the Grey! So you've got precisely one chance to end this peacefully! There’s a river of blood behind me, so you either surrender or I will end you all myself!”

Two of the men immediately jumped off the cliff in an attempt to escape, and the leader turned to snap at his men to hold. That was when the Wardens made their move. Anders downed a kidnapper with a bolt of lightning as Oghren caught another in the chest with a crossbow bolt, icy spikes erupting from a wave of frost and impaling several more. The last went down to a snap of Cupcake’s powerful jaws, and the woman sprinted away from the carnage.

Daylen caught her. “Easy, easy, your father sent me. You’re all right. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” He looked to Oghren. “Let’s clean up here. Anders, would you mind?”

“Certainly,” the healer said, wrapping an arm around the woman’s shoulders. “You’ve had a frightful night, my lady. Are you hurt?” The mage walked her back to the wagon, charming her all the way, as Oghren and Daylen set to looting the bodies.

—AOTG—

_Dailan's Journal  
2 Pluitanis: More southern thaigs have fallen. Varen Thaig and Kal'Barosh are overrun. Four thousand lives lost. The darkspawn are almost at the gates of Kal'Hirol. The fortress must be evacuated._

_4 Pluitanis: There will be an exodus to Orzammar. Many nobles are appalled, Orzammar being a trade city so close to the surface. They fear losing their stone sense to the surface vapours--a ridiculous notion. But Orzammar is the easiest to defend._

_7 Pluitanis: Scouts have sighted the horde. It is vast. To outrun the darkspawn, the commanders say we must leave now with nothing beyond bare essentials._

_7 Pluitanis (addendum): I have volunteered to remain behind with a contingent of men. We'll hold off the darkspawn so others can escape. Ancestors have mercy._

_9 Pluitanis: The casteless are still here, forgotten in the panic. They are 500 strong. If even half can be inspired to fight, they'll make an army. There is a chance--a small chance--that this will make the difference._

_10 Pluitanis: Two hundred men and women. Ancestors grant that 200 are enough._

_15 Pluitanis: The darkspawn have pushed us back to the inner keep. Only a handful of us survive, but we've held them back five days. We could not have done this without the casteless--no, not casteless. To call them “casteless” would be a mistake. Their sacrifice must not be forgotten._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1Army of Darkness. [ return to text ]
> 
> 2Supernatural. [ return to text ]


	6. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Wardens start to work together and take care of some side missions, before heading into the Wending Wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The Fortress of Kal'Hirol  
The fortress of Kal'Hirol was established by Paragon Hirol and became known as a center of learning for smiths. Its workshops are where Paragon Hirol conceived his famous improvements to golem resilience and power, and where Hirol's favorite student developed a method for storing refined lyrium that is still used today._

_These breakthroughs brought Kal'Hirol great prosperity, its passageways glittering with gold and silver. For decades, the thaig was the favored home of apprentice smiths. Unfortunately, as time wore on, only the richest could afford to train there._

_When the darkspawn came, Kal'Hirol was among the first of the great thaigs to fall. Our people still mourn the loss._

_—From the writings of Shaper Ezerain_

—AOTG—

Lady Eileen stayed the night with them at Vigil’s Keep, and Daylen pretended not to notice when she emerged from Anders’ room the next morning, smiling so widely it looked as if her face might split in half. The Warden-Commander had been up late, working through paperwork that had accumulated in the brief time since taking command and studying a plethora of maps, books, and charts that had been supplied by the Wardens and the Crown. His eyes burned and his body ached from the lack of sleep, but there was still too much to do.

After reassuring Oghren that there weren’t creatures lying around masquerading as pairs of pants and looking to eat one’s eyeballs, Daylen found Nathaniel leaning against a wall, glaring at a nearby painting. “Funny,” he remarked. “Considering all the things that have been taken, it figures this would still be here.”

Daylen scrubbed at his eyes. “What’s so funny? Is this someone you knew?”

“My mother,” Nathaniel explained. “My father _hated_ my mother. He only dragged this painting out when my grandmother visited, which was not often. I’d be paraded before her like a soldier on inspection, and she would pick over every flaw while Father awaited his turn.”

“Considering my own childhood this seems rather hypocritical of me to ask,” Daylen replied, “but do you have _any_ fond memories of your family?”

“That _does_ qualify as a fond memory.” Daylen stared at him. “I know, I know. It’s strange. I was in the Free Marches for almost eight years. I don’t have many memories of my family at all.” He jerked a thumb at the painting. “Anyway, someone should take this down. I think it’s staring at me…”

“I’ll see that it’s done,” Daylen assured him, spotting Anders entering the room with a grin playing at his lips. “Excuse me.”

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Anders asked.

“Anders, do me a favor? Don’t ravish any other noble ladies unless you _absolutely_ have to?”

The healer winked. “No promises.” Daylen shook his head, but the grin on his face gave him away. “So what would you do if you didn’t have to be a Grey Warden?”

“Well, I’d leave, there’s plenty I could do elsewhere,” Daylen mused. “But I don’t ‘have’ to do anything, really.”

“Really?” Anders asked skeptically. “Once you drink the blood, it’s all downhill, no?”

“Well, I’ve got some people working on that, but there is an alchemical concoction I want you all to take,” Daylen replied. “It unlocks some powers that stray a bit close to the edge of would look like blood magic to the uninformed person, but it also gives us more control over the Taint in our bodies. You’ll feel stronger, faster, more vital than ever.”

“Interesting,” Anders said. “I’ve never liked the idea of being trapped somewhere, to be honest. It reminds me of the Circle.” Daylen nodded in understanding. “After my seventh escape attempt, you’d think they’d have given me credit for trying.”

“Seven attempts?” Daylen asked. “I had only heard of five. I think that means you hold the record. They didn’t just make you Tranquil?”

“I didn’t really start trying until after I passed my Harrowing,” Anders replied. “And they can’t make you Tranquil once-”

“Once you’ve passed your Harrowing, right,” Daylen finished.

“I’ll wager they regret that rule!” Anders chuckled. “You know, there _is_ one thing I miss about the tower. My cat.”

Daylen raised an eyebrow. “You had a cat? I didn’t think Circle mages were allowed to own pets. Why didn’t you take it with you?”

“It wasn’t mine, exactly. Just a mouser that hung around the tower, a vicious little tabby. There were days when that stupid cat was the only person I saw. Except for it not being a person. Still, I liked him. Poor Mister Wiggums.”

“Why ‘poor Mister Wiggums,’ dare I ask,” Daylen said.

“He became possessed by a rage demon – but he _did_ take out three Templars. I was never more proud.” Daylen snorted. “May he forever eat mice in the Fade.”

“You know, there was a cat I picked up outside,” Daylen realized. “I brought him inside. He’s been lurking about.” The cat brushed up against Anders’ legs, purring. “Ah, there he is.”

“Oh, look at the cute little kitty!” Anders cooed. “He looks like Mister Wiggums, but I don’t know if I should keep him. We get into some dangerous scraps.”

“Well, he could stay here at the Keep,” Daylen offered. “I don’t think we should make him a Warden, but if you’d like he could be your cat.”

“I suppose,” Anders said. “I’ll see if he likes me.” He scooped the cat up, scratching along its back. “We’ll call you Ser Pounce-A-Lot!”

Sigrun and Jukka were already armored and waiting for them down in the courtyard, the two sparring easily as a handful of guard trainees looked on. Jukka’s form with a shield and mace was excellent, but Sigrun’s footwork was as good as Zevran’s, keeping her out of the way of his strikes as she kept up her attack, trying to find a gap in his defense. Jukka’s face was locked in a stoic glare, and Sigrun wore a wide grin. The rogue was laughing almost giddily as she ducked under her partner’s swing and managed to sweep his leg out of position, landing three strikes on the other dwarf before he hit the ground. Cheers went up from the audience, and Sigrun glanced around nervously, unaccustomed to the attention. Daylen pushed through the crowd, and the courtyard fell silent as the Warden-Commander loomed over his newest recruits.

“Commander, I…we…” Sigrun gulped nervously as Daylen remained stonefaced.

“We were just keeping in practice,” Jukka said, pushing himself to his feet.

“I can see that,” Daylen replied calmly. “Why do you two assume I’m upset?”

“Well, it might be the scary look,” Sigrun suggested.

Daylen grinned. “Sorry, couldn’t resist messing with you. Let’s have a cheer for our newest Wardens!” A roar went up from the crowd, and Sigrun flinched. “If you’re going to spar like that, I suggest you have a healer on hand just in case, and also that you tell me in advance.”

“Sorry, Commander, we meant no disrespect,” Jukka said.

“Disrespect?” Daylen asked. “Jukka, I expect you to keep your skills sharp. I only want you to tell me in advance so I can have people _watch_. Learn from the best, and all that.” He cracked his neck. “All right, everyone. In light of this demonstration, those of you not tasked with other duties are going to spend today training. Get your equipment and be back here immediately!”

—AOTG—

Daylen looked down at the sword through his middle and sighed. “Not again.” He looked over at Sigrun, who had both hands clapped over her mouth in horror. “Are you going to want this back, or can I keep it?”

“I killed the Warden-Commander!” she gasped.

“Are you not in extreme pain right now?” Nathaniel asked, seemingly baffled by Daylen’s calm.

“It’s not my first major injury,” Daylen admitted. “Plus, the blade is still _in_ the wound, so it doesn’t hurt as much. I’ve already got healing magic working on it.” He looked over at Sigrun. “Relax! I’d like to say this sort of thing doesn’t happen to me often, but I’ve been injured enough times to be reasonable about this. Anders!” The mage strolled over, glancing down casually at the blade lodged in Daylen’s abdomen and pausing, before looking hard at the situation as if he didn’t believe his eyes.

It took the healer a moment to process what he was looking at. “Well, that’s not what you want.”

“No kidding,” Daylen agreed. “Between the two of us I think we can do this. We’ll draw it slowly, close the wound from the back. You ready?”

Anders cracked his knuckles. “Let’s do this.”

Healing the injury took the better part of an hour, and Daylen scratched at the freshly healed skin when it was done. “This is why I normally wear armor under my robes.”

“I’m so sorry!” Sigrun wailed.

Daylen waved her off. “This is why we spar, so we can learn what our weaknesses are. Nobody’s dead or crippled. Well, besides those of us who are already dead.”

“Why aren’t you wearing your armor?” Jukka asked.

“Because that darkspawn emissary back at Kal’Hirol blew a hole through it – and me – and Master Wade is still repairing it.”

“So _that’s_ why you were out for most of that fight,” Oghren said.

“Well, let’s get back to it, we’ve still got work to do!”

—AOTG—

The Grey Wardens collapsed into chairs around a table in the Keep’s dining room, exhausted. “Not a bad day’s work,” Daylen groaned, his body aching from the beating he had taken through the course of the day’s training.

Oghren chuckled, setting his helmet on the table as he reclined in the chair, sipping from a jug of moonshine he had retrieved from parts unknown. “I thought the elf and the pike-twirler taught you how to fight.”

“They did,” Daylen replied, grabbing his head in both hands and twisting until his neck cracked. “But getting hit with a mace still hurts.”

“Sorry about that,” Jukka said sheepishly.

Daylen shook his head, groaning as his neck protested. “Don’t be. I’d rather have live Wardens that fight dirty. Anyone who fights fair is as good as dead. If you can’t win by fighting dirty, cheat and cheat a lot. They might have the moral high ground, but you’ll be the one still breathing.”

“Probably passed a few tricks onto Garevel’s troops as well,” Oghren said, taking a long pull on the jug.

There was a crash from outside, along with angry shouting, and Daylen perked up, stepping out to check on the commotion. An irate dwarven woman was accosting a servant, who looked very much as though he would rather be anywhere else. “Something wrong?”

The dwarf glared at him as the servant beat a hasty retreat. “Where is he? I know he’s here. Cough him up, Warden.”

Daylen recognized the woman – Felsi, an old fling of Oghren that Daylen had helped him reconnect with. After the Blight, Oghren had announced an intention to renew his relationship. Clearly, something had gone wrong. So, Daylen did what any good friend would do – he covered for his friend and stalled for time. “Do you have an appointment?”

“You’re not going to pull the moss over my eyes,” Felsi said fiercely. “Oghren, you get your hairy ass down here!”

Oghren appeared in the doorway behind Daylen. “Hang on to your beard, woman. Is this a conjugal visit? Looking for Oghren to grease the old wheel?”

Felsi leaned back as Oghren approached her. “Don’t you lay a finger on me! You’ve done a lot of stupid things on a whim, but joining the Wardens?”

Oghren laughed. “Didn’t you say it would be hot?”

“We were _role-playing_!”

Daylen watched the byplay, wondering if he should be intervening or running for cover. “Look, I didn’t sign up on a whim, all right?” Oghren snapped. “You kicked me out, remember?”

“You were just looking for an excuse!” Felsi argued.

“You kept trying to make me into something I’m not. I can’t play house like you want me to. I’m only good at one thing, Fels, and that’s killing.”

“He’s right,” Daylen added, trying to defuse the situation. “He is good at killing.”

“He’s always been good at killing,” Felsi growled. “That and making absolutely nug-brained decisions!” Her glare softened. “You had a good thing in the army. They respected you.”

Oghren sighed. “Felsi, I finally got the ol’ conker on straight and I don’t belong anywhere but here.”

“Fine, Oghren, if that’s what you want,” Felsi said. “The baby and I will just have to get by without you. We’ll be in Amaranthine for another few days if you decide to get your head out of your ass.”

Oghren grumbled as the dwarf left. “Aren’t you going after her?” Daylen asked, trying to control his temper. “And what’s this about a baby?”

“She’s got a nugget in the oven now,” Oghren explained. “It’s mine. I’d go after her, but I’d just end up being hit. She’s a tiny thing but she packs a surprising wallop, and in this mood, she’d go straight for my danglers.”

“If she doesn’t, I might,” Daylen said icily. “You abandoned your kid?”

“I’m not father material,” Oghren insisted, turning to leave.

Daylen grabbed him by the beard plaits, yanking him back around. “You don’t walk out on your child! Maker, Oghren, you don’t have to be there every day, but you don’t just disappear!”

Oghren shoved the Warden-Commander back. “And who are you to tell me how to be a family man? You ain’t even _got_ a family!” Daylen flinched, and the dwarf paused. “Aw, sod it, Daylen, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Daylen glanced at the door. “Walk with me.” The two found an empty side corridor. “Look, what I’m about to tell you, maybe three other people in the world know about, including me. The reason I’m not dead despite killing the Archdemon is because Morrigan and I performed a ritual the last night we were at Redcliffe. It involved conceiving a child. Morrigan’s out there and she’s carrying my child. And that’s _killing me_. So believe me when I say that you do want to be part of your child’s life.”

Oghren stared at him a moment longer. “I’m not doing right by them, am I.”

“Not one bit,” Daylen said bluntly.

Oghren snorted. “That’s what I like about you. You’re honest. Like a sock to the gut. I think Felsi knew, even if she never acknowledged it to herself. She knew I could never settle down again. I did once and…well, you know.”

Daylen glared at him. “I suppose she’ll survive,” he said coldly after a few moments.

“People survive losing a leg, Daylen, doesn’t mean they’re not damaged.” He sighed. “She’ll be all right in the end though. But the nugget…ah, that’s got me all torn up inside. Little one won’t understand.”

“There’s no reason you can’t be a part of your child’s life,” Daylen replied firmly. “None at all.”

“Maybe I could visit once in a while, write some letters. That’s the least I could do, as a father. And hey, the little one will grow up thinking Daddy’s a great hero.”

The mage’s face softened. “I’ll even vouch for you,” Daylen offered. “Look, I realize you’re not exactly the type to stay home and play house, but…we’ve got plenty of room here at the Keep. Ferelden’s not exactly safe yet, and Felsi and the little one would be protected and taken care of here.”

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s more than that. Her parents weren’t too happy she married me, you know.”

“I don’t really know what to tell you about that, Oghren,” Daylen admitted. “I _killed_ Morrigan’s mother.”

Oghren snorted out a laugh. “That’s one way to deal with the in-laws!”

Daylen grinned. “Yeah. I never spoke with her between when we left with Morrigan and killing her, so I haven’t the faintest idea of whether she would have approved of me or not. Wouldn’t have mattered, though. Morrigan and I didn’t give a toss about things like that. Neither should you. If Felsi’s dumb enough to think you’re worth marrying, that’s her decision. Not her father’s, and not her mother’s. And if she’s dumb enough to marry _you_ , she’s dumb enough to hang around.”

Oghren shrugged. “I’ll think about it. She did mention she’d be here a few more days.”

“You do that.”

“Before you go, one more thing,” the dwarf said.

“Of course, Oghren.”

“Dreams,” Oghren said quietly. “You get them?” Daylen nodded. “This is a Grey Warden thing? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“They’ll subside in time, but come on,” Daylen chided. “You’re Oghren! Fearless! You eat nightmares for breakfast and then ravish their mothers!”

“Well, this particular dream put me right _off_ my breakfast,” Oghren replied. “In my dream, I saw one of those bloated, vomit-smeared broodmothers, and it had Hespith’s face. Branka was there and whispered ‘it’s time,’ and Hespith screamed and a thousand darkspawn burst from her.”

Daylen was staring at him. “What then?”

“The darkspawn surrounded me and started talking. Asking me if I would like lemon in my tea. And could I please teach them to read and write, and one of them kept repeating ‘where’s the baby?’ That’s when I woke up.”

Daylen stared at him a moment longer. “I think you’ve got too much on your mind, mate.”

Oghren laughed. “Usually they accuse me of the opposite.”

“Well, the darkspawn dreams go away, but I’ve never heard of a dwarven Grey Warden getting other kinds of dreams after the Joining,” the mage said. “If it keeps up, it might be something you’ll just have to deal with. I’m sorry. Had I known, I’d have warned you.”

“I’ll live, Daylen. I…thanks, for setting me straight on this.”

“You’d do the same for me,” Daylen replied. “Come on, there’s work to be done.”

—AOTG—

“You know, I’m actually not the first Howe to be a Grey Warden,” Nathaniel remarked.

Daylen looked up from the stack of paperwork he was working on. “Carrying on the family tradition, then?”

“Following in my grandfather’s footsteps, more like,” the archer replied. “His name was Padric Howe. He joined the order before it returned to Ferelden, just after the war. Never contacted his family again, just vanished. Now that I know about the Joining, I think he died.”

"Another piece of the puzzle," Daylen murmured, suddenly understanding part of Howe's resentment of the Wardens. "He probably died in the Joining, but even if he didn't, it's unlikely he would have contacted you again. Many Wardens choose to leave their families behind. It’s an unfortunate fact of being a Grey Warden. I’ve got some of our mages looking into ways to make it less dangerous, but many Wardens die during the Joining alone.”

“I know that now. Father always said he was a horrible man for abandoning the family to join a pointless cause. I grew up ashamed of my grandfather, but now I see his bravery. That will take some getting used to.”

“For some people, it’s…a calling, I suppose,” Daylen mused. “It’s a purpose. Something you feel you have to do. There may not have been a Blight back then, but if he was willing to lay his life on the line to protect the world from darkspawn, I would say that the only shame was your father’s.”

Nathaniel nodded somberly. “My father often forgot that ‘nobility’ has another meaning.” He paused. “You know, my grandfather had a bow passed down from _his_ grandfather. I wonder if it’s still around?”

Daylen’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. He had a bow? It had the Howe crest burned into the wood?” Nathaniel nodded, and Daylen dug around in a storage rack, pulling a dusty weapon out. “I found this down in the crypt. Didn’t think much of it at the time, but…”

“It _is_!” Nathaniel held the bow up, running a hand over the weathered wood. “That’s the Howe crest, all right. This is my grandfather’s bow. Or rather, my grandfather was the last to use it. As it was told to me, it was originally made for an ancestor during the Exalted Marches.”

“Well, it’s yours now,” Daylen said. “A weapon like that ought to be used.”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel replied sincerely. “It’s good to have a part of my family’s legacy again, something to be proud of.”

“Nathaniel, your father’s legacy doesn’t have to be your family’s. You’re one of the better men I’ve ever met. Rendon Howe may have been a monster, but that doesn’t mean that the Howes have to be remembered that way.”

—AOTG—

Daylen lifted his head from the desk as he felt someone prodding at his shoulder. A report on recruitment stuck to his cheek until he pulled the document away, scrubbing at his eyes and looking at Varel. “Eh? Was’matter?”

“Commander, have you been here all night?”

Daylen blinked hard, glancing at the window and noticing the sun rising. “Apparently so.” He noticed a blanket puddling around his waist and rubbed at his face again. “I must have fallen asleep sometime during the night.”

“You did, ser,” Garevel said as he entered the room. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I covered you with that blanket and took the candle.”

“Thank you for that,” Daylen mumbled, shuffling the documents to the next page. “Could you have someone send up some tea?”

“Commander, when was the last time you ate?” Varel asked. Daylen stared at him. “You know, food?”[1]

Daylen squinted at him, thinking. “I…” He sagged. “I don’t know.”

“Go get something real to eat,” Varel said. “We can handle things here for a few hours.”

“Before I go, what’s the situation in the arling,” Daylen replied, coughing and clearing his throat. “Any changes?”

Garevel frowned. “We are still training our new troops, and Master Wade has been at the forge night and day. New arms will make our soldiers much more effective, ser. But the darkspawn are attacking some of the outlying settlements. In large groups. The common folk are getting scared, Commander.”

“Reasonably so,” Daylen murmured. “We have to track these war-bands and hunt them down. The arling is unstable enough as it is.” He scrubbed at his face again. “Mistress Woolsey? Any news?”

“With the goods and coin recovered from Kal’Hirol, we have managed to cover further renovations to the Keep, the standing army, and the arling in general,” Woolsey reported. “But.”

“There’s always a but,” Daylen groaned. “Is this a big but or a small but?”

“Big,” the woman replied calmly. “Dumping a large amount of money into an economy as depressed as Amaranthine’s is will simply drive prices up.”

“Makes sense,” Daylen mused. “Lots of gold but nothing to spend it on means the gold isn’t worth much. Have to have something to spend the money on for it to be valuable. So we’re back to needing to secure the roads and encourage trade?” Woolsey nodded. “All right. They didn’t cover economics at the Circle, I’m going to take your word for it.”

“The bottom line is if you _can_ restore the flow of trade, Amaranthine’s future will be far brighter,” Woolsey replied. “Think of it as investing in the arling.”

Daylen nodded. “And Varel? You look like there’s something you don’t want to tell me.”

“I’m afraid so, Commander,” Varel replied. “I’ve held it off as long as I could, but you hold the right of high justice on your land. Certain matters of court must be decided.”

“Matters of court?” Daylen asked, baffled. “Wait, you’re telling me people are going to come to me to settle matters?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Varel said. “Most matters would not rise to your attention, but the nobility does have the right to bring cases before you for a ruling. Crimes against the arling would also be under your purview.”

Daylen grunted. “Great. So that’s why you wanted me to get a good meal. Wanted me softened up before you sprang that on me, eh?”

“I figured you would take it better on a full stomach,” Varel replied with a small smile.

“Good man,” Daylen said, eyeing his reflection in the polished silver mirror that hung on the wall near his bed. “We’ll take care of that as soon as I’ve had something to eat.” Bending down, he stuck his head into a bucket of water left for him to wash up, before standing upright and shaking water out of his hair and beard.

—AOTG—

“All rise,” Varel called. “The Warden-Commander and liege lord of all Amaranthine enters.” Daylen paused momentarily before realizing Varel was referring to him.

“Welcome,” Daylen said. “I understand there are some matters to be decided.” He turned to Varel, speaking quietly. “Anything I should know before we proceed?”

“By custom, the claimants make their case to you. I’ll advise you after, if you would like, and then you rule. The seneschal of the Vigil can hold court as well, if the arl commands it.”

“Tempting, but I’ll give it a try,” Daylen replied. “Let’s begin.”

Varel nodded. “Be seated. The Warden-Commander will first hear the matter of the crown against the sheepherder Alec.” A young man was shoved forward, his hands bound and a nasty bruise across one cheekbone.

Garevel spoke. “On behalf of the crown, I submit that Alec stole two bushels of grain bound for the garrison in Amaranthine. When confronted by soldiers, he confessed. The punishment for theft from the crown is death by hanging.”

“What say you, Alec?” Daylen asked.

“My sheep were slaughtered by the darkspawn, ser,” Alec said nervously. “My…my family was starving. I ask for mercy, Commander. Mercy.”

“The poor bugger,” Varel said softly. “Had he stolen from anyone besides the crown, he’d escape with a flogging.”

“That’s a nasty bruise,” Daylen commented. “How’d you come by it?”

“I was…beaten by the soldiers, ser,” Alec said.

Daylen grimaced. “This was after you confessed?” Alec nodded, and Daylen glared at the guard captain. “Garevel, find out who did that. I’d like to speak with them about appropriate use of force.” He looked back to Alec. “Alec, you’re a rather fit young man. Your family needs to be fed. You don’t have any sheep to herd. Join the army and your life will be spared, your family fed.” Alec’s eyes widened. “But I warn you, it won’t be easy.”

“Thank you, ser, thank you!”

“Get him out of those irons,” Daylen ordered Garevel. “Who’s next?”

“Next is a serious matter,” Garevel said, as a woman in a scout’s leathers was brought forward. “Danella, a soldier of the Vigil, abandoned her post and was caught three leagues away. She is charged with desertion. Even if it were not a time of war, the penalty would be death.”

“I asked the old captain several times to release me from my oath. The darkspawn are too near my family’s farm,” Danella protested. “They need me, my lord. I’m no coward.”

“You dishonor everyone who serves the Vigil,” Garevel spat. “You think you’re alone in having family under threat?”

“The men are afire over this one,” Varel said softly. “Danella is an accomplished scout. But desertion could destroy the army.”

“Danella, did you bring this matter to Garevel?” Daylen asked.

The scout didn’t hesitate. “I did, ser.”

Daylen grunted. “Your motive doesn’t mitigate your crime, Danella, but I acknowledge the issue. For the time being, you’ll be imprisoned here at the Keep.” The scout’s face fell. “Your family, however, will be brought here. You’ll serve your time training our new recruits in scouting tactics.” Her jaw dropped in surprise, and Daylen’s face hardened. “Make no mistake, Danella. I am placing a great deal of trust in you on the basis of your service record. Slip up again, however, and the punishment will be _severe_. Don’t make me regret this.” She nodded firmly as the guards led her away.

“The next matter is of a civil nature,” Varel said. “Lady Liza Packton is the sovereign of Teyrn’s Down. She-”

“I prefer to speak for myself,” the lady in question interjected. “The old Arl Rendon Howe made certain promises to me. Some of these he committed to paper. I was given the right to the incomes of the southern bridge.”

“And what part did you take in Howe’s conspiracies, eh Liza?” a man in finery asked her. “To get such a fruitful prize. I am Ser Derren, and it’s my land she seeks. Taken from me because I was one of the few nobles who stood against Teyrn Loghain.”    

“Commander, Ser Derren is an ally – and Amaranthine has precious few who support you wholeheartedly,” Varel murmured. “If there’s any hope of persuading more nobles to your cause, you must be fair-minded.”

Daylen stroked his beard. “Arl Howe was a traitor and a murderer, but he was the arl. Derren, I’m afraid it’s legal, but I swear I will make this up to you.”

“My father built that bridge,” Derren said softly as Liza looked smug. “But…very well. I place my trust in you.”

Daylen nodded. “Stay afterwards, I’ll need to discuss something with you.”

“The Commander has spoken,” Varel said. “The matter is resolved. Bring in Ser Temmerly the Ox.” A hefty man in plate armor was brought in, and Daylen noted his hands were unbound.

“Ser Temmerly stands accused of a murder most foul,” Garevel said. “You and your men came upon Ser Tamra in the dead of night and did cravenly ambush her.”

“You dare too much, Captain Garevel,” Temmerly rumbled. “I am noble born, and will not submit to your accusations.”

“You are accused of murder, ser!” Garevel cried. “My soldiers found you fleeing while Ser Tamra’s blood was still hot!”

Temmerly waved him off. “There’s a great deal of traffic on the roads. Not all of it human. And it’s so dangerous at night. We were merely in a hurry to reach a nice, safe place.”

“You mock this court with your denials,” Garevel said hotly.

“You have nothing, _Captain_ ,” Temmerly sneered. “Release me, Commander, it’s this common lout’s word against mine.”

“I’ll make my own decisions, Temmerly,” Daylen said calmly. “And that ‘common lout’ happens to be my guard captain, and a man of honor. I’ll thank you to treat him with respect.”

“You will recall Ser Tamra as the knight who warned us against a conspiracy,” Varel murmured. “Ser Temmerly was a confederate of Arl Howe. The murder of a knight should scare a lot of people, nobles especially. That nobody has come forward demanding justice leads me to think that they know who did it, and don’t want it investigated.”

“Is there really no more evidence against him?” Daylen asked quietly.

“Only some blood on their clothes. A sadly common sight on travelers these days. Besides that, nothing. The captain looked into the matter thoroughly.”

“The conspiracy is real,” Daylen growled. “And they claimed their first victim.”

“I fear you’re correct. If he’s innocent, I’m the Empress of Orlais. But it’s possible, I suppose.”

Daylen stroked his beard, and then nodded. “Ser Temmerly, would you say that you are a man of honor?”

“Of course,” Temmerly said immediately.

“And would you say that if you happened upon someone in need, you would assist them through strength of arms, if it came to it?”

“I suppose.”

Daylen nodded. “I’ve noticed that you’ve made no denials of the crime you stand accused of. You merely say that you are not answerable for them. A lady knight is dead. You were found fleeing the scene. Had Ser Tamra come under attack by bandits or darkspawn, you would have heard the commotion, and being a man of honor, would have stopped to help. This is a very complex matter, you see.” Temmerly didn’t reply, clearly realizing Daylen had him boxed in with his own words and afraid to say anything else. “I’m afraid that we’ll have to imprison you during our investigation.”

Temmerly’s eyes bugged out. “What is the meaning of this? You can’t do this!”

“Oh, but the Commander very much can!” Varel said.

“Temmerly, I have no doubt that you killed Ser Tamra, but I do not conduct executions without evidence,” Daylen spat. “Consider yourself lucky that you’re only being imprisoned.” He glared at the man a moment longer. “Oh, and an innocent man would have protested on the basis of being innocent, not on being noble-born. Get him out of here.”  

—AOTG—

“Ser Derren,” Daylen said after the session had ended. “I am truly sorry about the ruling I had to make.”

“I…understand,” he said stiffly. “The laws must be upheld.”

Daylen grunted. “I don’t quite buy that, but I’m trying not to alienate people any more than I do naturally. Look, let’s dispense with the back-and-forth and speak frankly. I just took a long-time financial holding from you and gave it to someone who backed a traitor and a murderer because I was more interested in upholding the law than doing what was right.” Derren didn’t react outwardly. “I promised to make it up to you, and I’m going to make good on that.” Pulling out a map, he spread it over the table. “The Knotwood Hills are adjacent to your current holdings, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Derren replied. “Not much of use out that way. Harsh ground, not much good for farming.”

“No, but they’re very good for digging in, and that’s what the dwarves did,” Daylen said, tapping the map. “Right about here, there’s an old dwarven fortress called Kal’Hirol. It’s the size of a large village and was a center for smithing. The dwarves, as you may or may not know, are absolutely obsessed with reclaiming lost fortresses and thaigs. This one is in remarkably good condition, and thanks to me, free of darkspawn. Now, there’s going to be a large contingent of dwarves moving into this, and they’re going to need to trade with the surface. Traditional dwarves don’t like coming topside for any reason.” As if to punctuate his point, Oghren belched noisily from the other side of the room. “Would you be interested in owning this land and governing the trading center instead of your family’s bridge?”

Derren’s mouth twisted into a sly smile. “I’ll see what can be done.”

—AOTG—

“Commander, this came for you this morning,” the private who was for some reason still assigned just outside the main door of the Keep said as Daylen exited. “Not sure who it’s from.”

Daylen unfolded the note, reading it quickly. “Hm. Interesting.” He looked to the private. “Please, assemble the other Wardens and alert Lieutenant Maverlies that we’ll be leaving for Amaranthine shortly.”

Maverlies turned out to be supervising renovations to the underbelly of the Keep, emerging and dusting off her hands. “Commander. The work is going well. Lots of extra hands now, thanks to you.” She smiled slyly. “And there’s been some entertainment, as well.”

“Entertainment?” Daylen asked.

“Those two prisoners, Rylock and Temmerly? The men have taken to poking fun at them in their free time.” Daylen made a valiant effort to avoid laughing, but gave up after he began turning red. “I’ve made sure nobody gets too offensive or too close to the bars.”

“Good. Do you have a detachment you can task with a few wagons? My Wardens will be heading down the Pilgrim’s Path, trying to find where the convoys are being hit. We’ll be hitting bandit camps on the way, and need some hands to take the loot back.”

Maverlies nodded. “You think a dozen men would do it? I can spare that many.” Daylen nodded. “Good. I’ll have them ready immediately.”

—AOTG—

“You should have let me stay behind,” Oghren grumbled as they set off. “Don’t need me for this, and that shipment to Orzammar is leaving today.”

“Besides you, Jukka is our only front-line fighter,” Daylen said. “Come on, Oghren, we can’t replace you in a fight.”

“Suppose that’s true,” Oghren chuckled.

“I don’t know anyone else crazy enough to headbutt an ogre in the crotch,” Daylen added. “That’s a kind of bonkers you want to cultivate, not leave behind.”

“I’ve seen you fight, Sigrun,” Nathaniel commented, keeping a careful eye on the treeline. “The Legion of the Dead trains its people well.”

“Oh, they taught me a few tricks, but I was fighting long before then,” Sigrun replied.

Nathaniel glanced over. “Oh? You fought in Orzammar’s army?” Daylen and Oghren winced, and Jukka’s face turned stormy.

“Fighting for scraps of food,” Sigrun said softly. “For a place to sleep. For survival.”

Nathaniel blanched. “Oh, I…I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all right,” Sigrun said. “You’re a noble.”

“So, what are you doing tonight?” Oghren asked. Jukka glanced over in surprise, his face darkening further.

“Sleeping,” Sigrun said guardedly. “Alone. With a knife under my pillow.”

Oghren snickered. “Hot.”

“Honestly, Oghren,” Sigrun sighed. “What’s the point? I’m in the Legion of the Dead. Nothing between us will last.”

“Exactly! All the fun, none of the commitment!” Sigrun groaned, and Daylen caught Jukka’s eye, shaking his head slightly before the dwarf could make to punch the berserker.

Sigrun shook her head as she caught a whiff of him. “Ugh. Oghren, I could light your breath on fire.”

“That’s not the only thing you could light on fire, saucy lady.”

She sighed again. “Do you ever stop drinking?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It enhances the Oghren experience. I’m like a cherry soaked in brandy Plump, juicy, and full of intoxicating flavor.”           

Daylen grimaced. “And that’s my appetite gone. Oghren, behave yourself.”

The dwarf rolled his eyes, ignoring the Warden-Commander. “You remind me of Branka, sometimes.”

Sigrun raised an eyebrow. “I remind you of your ex-wife, who fed her entire house to darkspawn in a search for a magical anvil?”

“Yes – well, no, not when you put it that way,” Oghren admitted.

“Smooth, Oghren,” Sigrun said dryly. “Real smooth.”

Oghren opened his mouth to respond, and Daylen reached over, shoving a trail biscuit in the dwarf’s mouth. Jukka shot him a grateful look as Nathaniel spoke up again. “Sigrun, I understand how difficult surviving poverty can be. When I came back from the Free Marches, I had nothing. No money, no family – nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Sigrun said softly. “I didn’t know that.”

“You have my respect for surviving what you did.”

“I didn’t survive,” Sigrun said brightly. “Legion of the Dead, remember?”

“I…oh.” Nathaniel gave Daylen a questioning look, receiving a shrug in return.

When they finally arrived at Amaranthine, Daylen checked the letter he had received. “So apparently, this ‘Dark Wolf’ is waiting for me in the foreign quarter, near the pond.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Nathaniel said. “Even in the Marches. He caused a lot of trouble in Denerim, but he fled when the guard almost caught him.”

“No he didn’t,” Daylen replied as they dismounted. “I’m the Dark Wolf. All of those crimes the Dark Wolf committed – and a few that didn’t get reported – were aimed at Loghain and his supporters. We stole everything that wasn’t nailed down and hocked it to support the war effort. Even stole Loghain’s crown at one point. Another reason I want to speak to this bloke. He’s stealing my credit.”

“I see you got my letter, Commander,” a man in heavy mail with a full helmet said as they reached the indicated location. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“I suppose you would be the Dark Wolf,” Daylen said.

“In the flesh. The less you know of me, the better. But by some, I am called the Dark Wolf. In the depths of the city, there is murmuring. Murmuring that nobles want you dead. I’d like to help.”

“You’re not the Dark Wolf,” Daylen said flatly. “I am.”

The man took a half-step back. “Y-you are? I thought perhaps the first Dark Wolf was killed or imprisoned.”

“I am very much alive,” Daylen replied dryly.

“You must admit that your current position does not leave time for shadow games.”

“I built the reputation of the Dark Wolf while fighting the Blight,” Daylen said. “If you’re going to bear the moniker, there are a few rules. Most important is that half your profits go to the poor. Only steal from jackasses or nobles. And steal cleanly, have some finesse.”

“Very well,” the man agreed. “I…will do right by the name, Commander.”

Daylen grunted. “Why would you want to help me, anyway? I’m a noble now. One of the bastards.”

The man snorted. “You may bear a title, but you’re one of us, Warden. You see, I have hopes that the Wardens will prove more fit to rule this land than the late Arl Rendon Howe. His confederates are the conspirators. But to unearth their identities, I’ll need resources. Fifty sovereigns.”

Daylen blinked. “You certainly know how to ask. You expect me to just hand over fifty sovereigns and believe you’re doing this out of a sense of civic duty?”

“Corrupt, miserly nobles have beggared many a proud commoner,” the man said. “Some commoners turn to distasteful occupations just to survive. Is it not fitting that they would want to strike back in the only way they’re able?”

Daylen grunted. “I’ll give you forty. Provide answers, and I’ll add another twenty.” The man nodded.

“It will be done. Give me some time.”

“Be careful,” Daylen warned. “This conspiracy has already killed one person trying to bring it to light.”

The group picked up a few wagons for their bait convoy, and Sigrun paused at a market stall. “Ooh. Fingers…twitching. So much shiny…”

“We can buy anything you want,” Daylen offered.

Sigrun laughed, ignoring the glare the vendor was giving her. “I know better than to nick any of this. I was just…remembering. Growing up casteless in Dust Town, we took what we could get, when we could get it. But that doesn’t excuse what I was – a thief, and a lying, rotten duster.”

“Hot,” Oghren commented.

“Adding eavesdropper to your list of fine qualities?” Daylen asked acidly.

“You know it,” Oghren said proudly.

“Let’s move along before the temptation becomes too great,” Sigrun suggested. “I’ve only got so much self-control.”

They made it all of ten steps before another situation arose. Sigrun bumped into another dwarf, both turning to apologize. The other dwarf’s face turned purple. “Why you ungrateful, backstabbing duster!”

“You apologize for that slur, _right now_ ,” Daylen snarled, Cupcake growling angrily next to him.

The woman snorted. “If we’re talking apologies, get in line. Name’s Mischa. I was a merchant until she ruined me.”

“Clearly smooth talking wasn’t how you made sales,” Daylen said.

“I had her running errands,” Mischa went on. “Trying to keep one duster out of trouble. I thought I was doing a good deed. Then I hear House Bemot’s lost a gold statuette of their Paragon. Next day, it turns up in my shop.”

Daylen looked at Sigrun. “Sigrun? What happened?”

“I…I tried to say no, but Beraht said he’d kill you if I refused,” Sigrun said, her face stricken. “He needed to get rid of it.”

“House Bemot could have had me executed,” Mischa snarled. “You could’ve spoken up, told them the truth.”

“And then Beraht would have killed _me_ ,” Sigrun retorted.

“Whatever you say, I trust her,” Daylen declared.

“I trusted her too,” Mischa said. “I have to deliver these skins to the tanner. Need to make a living somehow. Out of my way, brand.”

Sigrun stepped aside, but Cupcake growled louder, and there was a faint crackling noise as frost spread across Daylen’s knuckles. “You insult her one more time and I _will_ fling you off the battlements,” Daylen warned. “That’s if my hound here doesn’t pull your arms and legs off first.” The dwarf scoffed, stalking off. “Sigrun, I-”

“It’s in the past,” Sigrun said. “We should move on, Commander.”

“Right,” Daylen replied after a moment, glancing at Jukka. The warrior nodded, lingering behind as Daylen and Nathaniel carefully herded Anders and Oghren away. The two Legionnaires spoke quietly for a few moments before catching up, Sigrun looking less despondent.

The group split up, spreading the word throughout the merchants of the city of a heavily guarded convoy that would be escorted by the Wardens to the southern border of the arling. Merchants scrambled to organize what they could, while Daylen, Oghren, and Anders took the time to get into further mischief on the behalf of the ‘Blight Orfans,’ shutting down a moonshining ring and stealing a book from the Revered Mother. The sun was beginning to set as the convoy set out for Vigil’s Keep, and a handful of bandit groups, forewarned of the juicy pickings by agents in the city, found themselves counter-ambushed by guardsmen and Wardens. Cupcake’s nose would lead the troops back to the bandit’s camps, where more of their booty was seized for reintroduction to the arling’s economy.

By the time the convoy reached Vigil’s Keep that evening, the wagons were heavily laden with seized goods, and Woolsey added several more wagons to the train with additional guards fresh from Garevel’s training cadre.

Daylen pulled Sigrun aside after dinner. “All right. Talk to me. What happened with Mischa?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see her again. After all, she’s exiled, and I’m in the Legion. Maybe the ancestors thought it would be funny to see me get yelled at on the street.”

“She was too hard on you,” Daylen said.

“No. She wasn’t. It’s all true. Mischa caught me stealing a leg of nug once, and instead of telling the shopkeeper, she…paid for it. She said the casteless turn to crime because we have no other options. If she could help one casteless girl…but I proved that I’m scum. Just as they always said.”

“You’re not the person you were, and I don’t think you were scum to begin with,” Daylen insisted. “If you hadn’t done what you did, Beraht would have killed you, or her, or both of you.”

“The Legion changes people. Some change for the better, others for the worse, but all of us change. I know now, having lost my friends, that friendship isn’t something to be squandered. Perhaps I could make amends. Mischa said something about working for a tanner? I could visit, just to talk.”

“I think you shouldn’t waste your time on her, but the next time we’re in Amaranthine, we’ll look for her,” Daylen said.

“Thank you.” She yawned. “Well, I should rest. Busy days ahead of us.”

More of the bandit camps along the Pilgrim’s Path were eliminated and the goods reclaimed over the next two days, along with the odd clutch of darkspawn. Morale was high among the guards when watches were unnecessary with Daylen setting up camp glyphs and instructing Anders in their use.

It was only the next morning that they reached the narrowest part of the Pilgrim’s Path, and Cupcake began whining, a few minutes before the Wardens picked up the scent of smoke on the air. Daylen called the convoy to a halt, and the guards took up defensive positions around the wagons. “Stay here,” he ordered. “The Wardens will scout ahead.”

The six Wardens found a group of burning carts forming a rough blockade on the path, and a handful of bandit scavengers looting. They fled when they spotted the Wardens, only to be felled by Nathaniel’s arrows and magic from Daylen and Anders.

“Something large and powerful came through here,” Sigrun commented. “Large, powerful, and _angry_.”

“Not the bandits, though,” Daylen remarked, dousing the fires with frost magic. “They wouldn’t light the wagons. No point in hitting the convoys if you’re going to burn the goods.” He turned to Cupcake. “Can you find their camp, boy?” The hound began gleefully sniffing at the ground, pausing to mark a tree and leading them down a trail away from the road. More bandits were waiting, and several fled as they besieged the camp, only to scream in terror as they rounded a hill. As the last of the bandits stupid enough to stand and fight fell, Daylen heard one of the runaways screaming about the trees coming to life. “Oh, _balls_ , sylvans.”

“Sylvans?” Anders asked. “Those things exist?” Daylen nodded. “Wonderful.”

“Possessed trees,” Daylen said as the others looked baffled. “Keep an eye out. If a tree starts moving, kill it.” Killing several of the sylvans was interesting, but not particularly strenuous with the skilled fighters and mages they had on hand. Daylen rooted around in the wrecked camp, finding a set of orders. “Damn. Apparently there _was_ a Dalish clan around here. Not sure if they’ve moved on, but if they’re the ones behind the attacks, that’s bad news. I’d rather not fight them.”

“Might not have a choice,” Nathaniel warned.

“I know. But most Dalish I’ve met have been decent enough people. Took a while to earn their trust, but they distinguished themselves during the Blight. I just hope whatever Dalish we meet here – if there are any here – are as open to the idea of trusting a human.” The group rallied up, scouting farther ahead on the trail.

“You don’t think you’re actually dead, do you?” Nathaniel asked Sigrun.

“Me? Not actually dead, no,” Sigrun said. “Symbolically dead, perhaps.”

“And what is the difference?”

“Several pints of blood,” Jukka replied.

“Technically, we’re just mostly dead,” Sigrun said. “There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Now, mostly dead is slightly alive. Now, all dead...well, with all dead, there's usually only one thing that you can do.”

“What’s that?” Nathaniel asked.

"Go through his clothes and look for loose change," Jukka finished.[2]

Sigrun paused in front of a large pine. “Trees smell good. Grass smells good too. And flowers, of course. The surface is full of such wonderful smells. In the Deep Roads, all you smell is moist rock or dry earth. And darkspawn. There’s a smell I won’t miss.”

Daylen grinned. “Yeah, after I left the Circle, the scents of the outside world…rather amazing, really. I remember taking my boots off and walking around in the grass, just to feel it between my toes. Duncan wanted to hurry, but he knew it was the first time I had left in years.” Cupcake sniffed the air and snuffled, and Daylen turned. “Come on. He’s found a scent.”

More bandits were very surprised to see the Wardens strolling into their camp, shortly before they were violently removed from the mortal coil. Nathaniel made the run back to where the convoy was bivouacked, updating them on the situation.

Cupcake woofed quietly, sniffing the air. “More bandits?” Daylen asked. Cupcake snuffled. “Oh. Something new. Not darkspawn, though. I’m getting tickles, but they’re not close.”

“You can sense darkspawn that far away?” Anders asked.

Daylen grimaced. “I’ve spent a lot of time around them. I’ve probably got more Taint in me than I would if there hadn’t been a Blight. That, plus a few other benefits I’m hoping to confer upon you lot…” He jerked his head as Cupcake trotted off. “Follow the hound.”

A hysterical bandit came running towards them, screaming. Daylen almost incinerated him before they realized he wasn’t charging, but fleeing something else. “Out of my way! I need to get out of here!”

“Who are you?” Daylen asked.

“I’m no one! I just want to get out of here!”

“You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers,” Daylen said. “What do you know about the caravan attacks?”

“Nothing! We heard about the caravan attacks, but it wasn’t us, I swear! We just thought there would be valuables left behind. But then –” There was a rumble, and the man paled. “Maker help me, she’s here! Got to get away!” He shoved past Daylen, sprinting away.

Daylen turned, spotting roots suddenly thrusting through the earth at the top of a nearby hill. An elf emerged from the roots, her facial tattoos identifying her as a Dalish. “Another scavenger here to prey on the misfortunes of others?” She asked derisively. “No, you are too well-armed. Here for me, then. You will not drive me from these forests. The shems could not do it, the darkspawn could not, and you will fare no better!”

“I’m a Grey Warden,” Daylen called. “Why would I try to drive you away?”

“Your kind have been hounding me for months!” She shouted. “You killed my friends, and the merchants kidnapped my sister!”

"Your sister?" Daylen asked. "I'm not holding a girl, elven or otherwise."

"Me neither," Sigrun said brightly.

"I wish I was," Anders mused.

“The caravans are only the beginning,” the elf snapped. “I want Seranni returned to me, or…or more will die. Deliver this message. Consider this a warning.” Weaving magic, she summoned the roots again, vanishing.

Daylen and Anders shared a glance. “Well, she seems nice,” Anders commented.

“That Dalish magic is something else,” Daylen said. “There’s more going on here than we knew. Merchants don’t kidnap people. Come on, let’s check out that ridge up there.”

As they scaled the ridge, they found a rough Dalish camp, a common Fereldan sword driven deep into the ground in front of the campsite. “Don’t these Dalish elves travel in packs?” Oghren asked. “What’s with the tiny camp?”

“No aravels, no halla,” Daylen said. “This is…very, very strange.”

“And here,” the berserker called. “Looks like there was a bit of a fight, but no bodies. Just all these weapons. Something smells here, Commander, and it isn’t me.”

Daylen nodded. “Agreed. These weapons weren’t dropped in battle, and if they had been, they’d have been recovered by whoever took care of the bodies.”

Sigrun whistled. “Got some graves here. Dug recently.” A quartet of stone cairns marked the graves, and Daylen knelt, touching the fresh earth.

“Did the elf dig these?” Jukka asked.

“It must have been her. Humans don’t bury their dead this way,” Daylen said. “Darkspawn don’t bury dead at all.” He stood, looking at the graves. “Falon’Din carry you to your rest.”

“This is kind of pretty,” Sigrun commented, looking out over the landscape. “If you overlook the smoking caravans and darkspawn.”

“This was staged,” Nathaniel pronounced, still looking around the camp. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Someone’s trying to piss off that elf,” Daylen agreed. “Let’s keep looking. Maybe there’s more to be found.” The group found a few statues of Maferath and took rubbings of their inscriptions for an odd job they picked up in Amaranthine, along with eliminating several ancient sylvans and taking samples of their heartwood for another task.

Daylen crowed triumphantly when they found a high-quality deposit of granite nearby, taking some samples for Voldrik. A relatively fresh corpse nearby turned out to be a scholar who had seemingly fallen to some Blighted wolves. Anders and Daylen consulted the dead scholar’s journal and unlocked a Tevinter-made magical safe that contained an enchanted amulet etched in lyrium that Daylen tossed to Jukka.

“You…come here…” Daylen jerked upright, glancing around.

“You heard that, right?” Anders asked. Daylen nodded. “Sigrun? You hear that?”

“Over there,” the dwarf said, pointing at a pair of statues.

Daylen carefully approached the statues, one hand on his staff. “It has been…a long time.” The statue said. “I have forgotten…my name…But I am a warrior. I am Avvar. And I am cursed.”

“Or you’re a demon possessing a statue, perhaps,” Daylen replied.

“You talk like a Tevinter invader,” the statue snarled. “Seasons beyond counting, I was a man, a man to be feared, a man of _war_. The Tevinter mages…they came here seeking easy prey. But they found me, my brother, my tribe. We broke their army at the Fort of a Thousand Vigils, then pursued the magister.”

“Fort of a Thousand Vigils?” Daylen echoed. “You mean Vigil’s Keep?”

“Perhaps. Time changes all things. We cornered the magister here. Here we would sacrifice him to Uvolla, the god of this wood. As his guards fell one by one, he struck my brother and I with liquid fire. So even as the magister’s body was torn apart, my brother and I watched from stone eyes.”

Daylen winced. “Old Tevinter curses were formidable. Your story may be true.”

“A falsehood is an affront to the gods,” the statue spat.

“So you just looking for conversation, then?” Daylen asked. “I’m a mage of some skill, but I don’t think I can break this curse.”

“The Tevinter magister that cursed my brother and I, he leads a mockery of life. Disturb the ashes nearby. Summon him, kill him. Free me…” The statue fell silent, only for the other to speak up.

“Stranger…no…come here.” The voice was softer, and Daylen approached. “My brother called to you. Do not listen. The magister’s death will accomplish nothing.”

“Another talking statue,” Daylen quipped. “You’d look lovely in my throne room.”

“Humor,” the statue said. “I remember humor. My brother is consumed by rage. Over long years, his anger grows. Anger will not free us. Revenge will not free us. I’ve used the long years to think, to pray to our gods.”

“What will free you, then?” Daylen asked.

“There is no release. But with peace, serenity…we can sleep. I have slept many seasons with only my brother’s anger to call me back. Show him the way. This does not have to be a torment.”

“He seems pretty intent on murdering the magister.”

“He is the son of the father, a warrior born. With the long seasons, I have seen that violence often accomplishes naught. Teach him.”

Daylen grunted. “I’ll see what I can do, but if he’s been stewing in anger for centuries, it may not be easy.”

“The deed…is not yet done…” the warlike statue hissed.

“Your brother says the magister’s death won’t free you,” Daylen said.

“My brother has grown weak. In truth, weakness was always in him. He was a thinker. A dreamer. Not a warrior.”

“I happen to be a thinker myself. In a thousand years, has no one killed the magister?”

“Twice before he has been struck down,” the statue admitted. “Once very long ago. Once by an Alamarri, Dane.”

“Dane?” Daylen asked. “As in Dane from the legends?”

“I do not know your legends. He asked after a dragon. But I know nothing of dragons, either.”

Daylen shook his head, trying to focus on the issue. “Then even if I kill the magister, you’ll still be trapped.”

“You…you may be right,” the statue said. “My soul calls out to smite he who cursed my brother and me.”

“I’ll kill him, but the curse cannot be lifted. You must make peace with it.”

“I…I will try. It will take time.”

“You…you have calmed him,” the peaceful statue said as Daylen returned. “If it lasts, perhaps we can sleep. And wake in a brighter future. Thank you.”

“Are you really Avvar barbarians?” Daylen asked.

“Does it matter? Before I sleep, let me whisper to you of lore of earth, our secret herbs. May they help you, stranger.” Daylen copied down what the statue said, recipes for potent draughts that would restore stamina and encourage healing.

Deeper in the forest, the Wardens located Wynne’s missing colleague and convinced her to head out to Cumberland, locating some seeds nearby in exchange for a few of the botanist’s recipes. An exceptionally large ancient sylvan went down under the group’s combined assault, and Daylen recovered the sylvan’s heartwood, stuffing it into his pack.

Exploring the area further revealed a horrifying mass grave. Daylen pressed one wrist to his mouth, trying to stave off the stench as he looked into the pit. “Sweet Maker.”

“These bodies were brought here,” Nathaniel said, glancing over as Anders threw up. “You can see drag marks.” He pointed to furrows in the earth. “Here, and here. Someone was trying to hide these.”

Daylen closed his eyes, reaching out and feeling the Veil. “You’re right. They weren’t killed here.”

“Agreed,” Anders said, wiping his mouth. Daylen held out a waterskin, and the mage rinsed and spat. “The Veil hasn’t been thinned at all.”

“When there’s a lot of bloodshed topside, sometimes demons show up,” Oghren explained to the two confused Legionnaires.

“You _have_ been paying attention,” Daylen remarked.

“I’m not completely drunk _all_ the time,” the dwarf grumbled.  “But I’m working on it.”

Daylen closed his eyes again. “There are traces of the Taint all over. Could the darkspawn have done this?”

“The ‘spawn don’t hide the dead like this,” Jukka said. “They display them.”

Daylen turned slowly. “There’s…something else Tainted around here. Not a darkspawn. A ghoul, maybe. Come on.”

The group paused just long enough to ignite and smash some cocoons giant spiders had made, crushing the spiders when they showed up to protect their nest. The Tainted creature Daylen was sensing turned out to be a survivor of the militia, badly injured and deeply corrupted. “Don’t look…don’t look at me,” the man gasped.

“Who are you?”

“Olaf…my name,” the man said, the Taint clearly addling his mind. “Came with friends to…to drive out…away the elf. But…the darkspawn were too quick. We were ripped apart…biting claws and teeth from the darkness. And…then I woke...flesh and bone and gristle under me…around me.”

“They thought you were dead, tossed you in the mass grave with the others,” Daylen said.

“Everyone dead…dead soft meat melting into the ground. I…I crawled away…came here. Can’t stand to…see it…”

“Darkspawn ambushing,” Daylen murmured. “Hiding their kills. This is bad. The elves. Did you kill them?”

“No. No. Darkspawn came first. They slaughtered us…took our steel. Brought it to the elven camp. Tricked us, tricked the elf. Now…she thinks we are to blame. Hunts all in her rage…while they watch.”

Sigrun gasped, and Daylen felt a tingle at the edge of his senses, feeling darkspawn getting closer. “The elf killed all those people for nothing. We have to do something about this before she hurts someone else. She’ll be back at her campsite. We have to get to her, and stop her.”

“The dark ones are curious about you too,” Olaf said. “They watch you as well as her. Can you feel them?”

Daylen nodded. “This disease will kill you, you know.”

“Am already dead. Am already gone. Make…make an end, please.”

“Do you know anything about the elf’s sister?”

“Sister? I…have a sister…do I? Elf-sister, no…we did not take her. Probably dead. Or eaten.”

Daylen drew his dagger, pressing a hand to the man’s forehead. “Maker have mercy on you.” Casting a sleep spell, he slit the man’s throat. “There’s darkspawn nearby.” An arrow thudded into his shoulder, and Daylen grunted in pain, returning fire as a pack of darkspawn attacked the group.

Killing them didn’t take long, and Daylen pulled the arrow out of his shoulder, tossing it aside. “Bloody fucking darkspawn.” He kicked the body of the alpha leading the group over, searching it’s corpse. “Oh, here we go…”

“What is it?” Nathaniel asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Elven-made,” Daylen said, holding up the trinket. “Ironbark. Only the Dalish know how to work it.” He looped the leather cord around his hand. “Maybe this will convince that elf that the humans didn’t do this.”

They were backtracking towards the Dalish’s camp when the elf appeared on a nearby ridge. “Why are you still here?” She demanded. “I told you to stay away from me! This place is not for you!”

“ _Andaran atish’an_ ,” Daylen said. “You’re attacking the wrong group. The humans did not kidnap your sister.”

“I know a human crime when I see it,” she snapped. “I have experienced more than enough of them. You will pay for repeating their lies.” Several rabid wolves and sylvans appeared as she wove magic, and Daylen froze the wolves in place as Anders ignited one of the sylvans with a fireball. The group quickly hacked their attackers to pieces, and Daylen wiped a wolf’s blood from his face as he cast a healing spell at Sigrun, who had picked up a broken wrist from a wolf bite.

“There’s only one route she could take down from that ridge,” Daylen said. “We need to cut her off. Maybe we can talk her down.”

“I’d say the time for talking has passed,” Oghren growled.

They cut up the path to the Dalish camp, finding the elf standing over the graves. “You…you will never take me alive,” she declared.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Daylen said.

“And I will not go with you to some…shemlen magistrate,” she snapped. “I won’t bow to their rules.”

“For pity’s sake, I just want to talk,” Daylen sighed. “Will you listen?”

She laughed. “Talk.”

“You’ve been deceived, but if you want me to just kill you, I can do that,” Daylen snapped. “The darkspawn were playing the humans against the elves.”

“What? The darkspawn are mindless. It is not possible.”

“They aren’t mindless,” Daylen insisted. “Something’s changed, since the Blight. Something’s awakened. Some of the darkspawn are talking, _planning_ , and I’m trying to stop it. I think your sister may have been taken by them. These weapons here were planted by the darkspawn. The humans wouldn’t leave them.”

“I wondered why anyone would discard the weapons, but you say the _darkspawn_ planted them?” the elf asked. “That would mean the _darkspawn_ killed my people and took my sister!”

Daylen held out the token. “I found this on a darkspawn. It’s elvish.”

“That…that is Seranni’s,” the elf said. “She would never willingly part with that; our mother gave it to her before she died. Why would the darkspawn do this?”

“I’m not sure exactly why, but I have a few theories,” Daylen replied. “None of them good. If they have your sister, they may be making her into a broodmother.”

“You have no reason to trust me, but let me come with you,” the elf offered.

Daylen stared her down. “Really. You expect me to just ignore all the people you killed, and the attempt on our lives?”

“I fell for the darkspawn’s deception and I took lies, this is true. I see now that this was a mistake. I swear to you that if I get Seranni back, I will leave this place. For good.”

“Are you the only one who has been attacking the caravans?” Daylen asked. The elf nodded. “I see. Very well. Come along.”

“Great, another twitchy magic sort,” Oghren groused. “Just what we need.”

“My name is Velanna, if you care for such things. Do you know where the darkspawn might dwell?”

“Caves, tunnels, mines,” Daylen replied. “I’m Daylen Amell. That’s Oghren, Jukka, Sigrun, Anders, and the archer over there is Nathaniel.”

“There is an abandoned mine some ways to the north of here. The tunnels run far into the earth. We will likely find the darkspawn there.”

“Nathaniel, head back to the wagons,” Daylen ordered. “Tell them that we’ve neutralized the source of the attacks. Have them proceed. The guards will see them the rest of the way to the southern border of the arling, and then the guards will return to their garrisons. We’re going to go after the darkspawn. Cupcake, go with him.” Nathaniel jogged off, the dog loping alongside him. “All right. We’re going to check out that mine, but I need some answers.”

Velanna eyed him suspiciously. “About?”

“What’s your sister – Seranni?” Velanna nodded. “What’s she look like?”

“Much like me. She is a warrior, however.”

Daylen nodded. “Good. Is your clan still in the area? I’ve worked with the Dalish before, during the Blight. I’d like to keep relations civil with them, and if they know where the darkspawn are coming from in the arling, I’d be very interested in gaining their help. I understand some of the local mayors haven’t exactly been very welcoming.”

“You understand I would not tell you this even if I could,” Velanna said coldly.

Daylen paused. “All right, that’s fair, you don’t know me. Took the last clan a while to trust me as well.” The two continued talking, hashing out information about the region until Nathaniel returned, reporting that the convoy was moving on. “All right. Let’s go.” An ogre was emerging from the mine as they approached the entrance, and fell quickly to the combined might of the Warden’s and Velanna’s nature magic. “Once we’re inside, keep sharp,” Daylen warned. “Velanna, you’re not immune to the Taint like we are, so please try to keep your distance from the darkspawn.”

—AOTG—

_Anders  
“Most people enjoy being kicked in the head to be woken each morning. Me, I'm just so picky.”_

_Anders is an apostate mage. He was arrested by Templars who intended to cart him back to the Circle Tower; Vigil's Keep was to have been a short stop on the long journey. Unfortunately, the keep was attacked just after the group arrived, and Anders was found standing over the bodies of his captors. He insists they were killed by darkspawn._

_Regardless, Anders joined the Warden to defeat the darkspawn in Vigil's Keep. Afterwards, Anders was recruited into the Grey Wardens. He survived the Joining._

_Anders takes great pride in his appearance and enjoys fine things. The Warden-Commander gave Anders a kitten as a gift. Anders named the kitten Ser Pounce-a-lot and decided to house him at the Keep._

_Anders' old friend Namaya revealed that the Templars had moved the phylacteries for most mages in Ferelden--including Anders--to the City of Amaranthine. But the warehouse where the phylacteries were supposedly stored was actually a Templar trap. The Warden stood with Anders against the Templars, for which the mage was grateful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1A Beautiful Mind. [ return to text ]
> 
> 2The Princess Bride. [ return to text ]


	7. Escape from the Silverite Mines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens fight their way out, make some new friends, and kill a whole bunch of people. In other words, Tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The Paragon Hirol  
Paragon Hirol was born a warrior. He excelled at arms and strategy, but was not content. Hirol believed he was born outside the caste system, able to be anything he chose--a warrior, a smith, even a noble. He would not rest until he'd mastered the art of war, the art of smithing, and the art of rule._

_He was eccentric, maybe even mad. Some said he'd taken too many blows to the head in the Provings. Yet Hirol accomplished what he set out to do. He trained under the greatest smiths and the greatest warriors, and his achievements in both fields were so great that the Assembly could not help but make him a Paragon. Thus noble House Hirol was born._

_\--From the writings of Shaper Ezerain_

—AOTG—

Daylen could feel magic pushing down on his consciousness, trying to keep him unconscious. Finding the tendril that was squirming into his mind, he broke it, snapping awake. “Get away from me,” he slurred, looking up. “Sweet…Maker…”

“So you are the Commander of the Grey Wardens,” the creature standing over him said. With its offset eyes and narrow spikes of bone emerging through the flesh of its narrow neck, the being was almost eight feet tall, but emaciated and clearly sustained through some sort of magic. Its robes looked vaguely Tevinter in style, and Daylen tried to rise to engage despite how weak he felt. “Do not be frightened,” the creature said. “Your injuries have been tended to.” Daylen paused as he wondered when he had gotten injured, and what this creature considered healing. “I am the Architect, and I apologize for what I must do. I do not wish to be your enemy. But now is not the time for this. Rest.” A massive weight pressed down on his mind, and Daylen lapsed back into unconsciousness.

—AOTG—

Daylen groaned, sitting up. His mouth and eyes were dry, he rubbed his face, noticing his hands were bare. His vision blurred as he opened his eyes, spotting several murky figures in the darkness. “Anybody alive in here?”

“Good morning,” Anders said, pacing nervously. Daylen glanced down, then at himself, realizing both were stripped. “We’re all here.”

Daylen carefully averted his eyes as he noticed Sigrun and Velanna were as naked as the rest of them. Oghren was eyeing Sigrun lasciviously, and Jukka was audibly growling. “Anyone know what happened?”

“Sleep spell, mixed with some glyphs,” Anders grumbled. “I…” he shook himself, visibly calming. “I don’t like dungeons.”

“Me neither,” Daylen replied. “Why am I so weak?”

“I think you had some blood taken from you,” Anders replied. “I don’t know whether they’re trying to make phylacteries or practice blood magic. But it’s bad news.”

Daylen stood shakily. “We need to get out of here. Sigrun? Can you get the door open?”

“I’ve tried,” the dwarf replied irritably. “Anders even tried freezing the lock. It’s been tempered.”

Daylen scowled. “Velanna? That spell you know work on rock?”

She shook her head. “I can only move through earth, not stone.”

“Right,” Daylen replied. “So you were just waiting for me to wake up?”

Anders nodded, but Velanna shook her head scornfully. “What do you know that-” she broke off as Daylen shifted into the mouse form Morrigan had taught him, scurrying through the bars and resuming his human form on the other side.

“Has anyone seen anything else alive out here?” Daylen asked.

“Not yet,” Nathaniel said. “I was the first one awake.” Cupcake whined nervously, pawing at the bars.

“Well, there’s darkspawn all over the place,” Daylen replied. “I’ll be back if I find a key or something to pry the door open with.” The door at the other end of the dungeon creaked open, and Daylen cursed quietly, shifting back into his mouse form.

“Seranni!” Velanna cried. “Oh creators, what have they done to you?”

“They haven’t done anything,” Seranni replied. “I…I’m fine, Velanna. It’s not me he wants. I have to get you out before something bad happens. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt.”

“Yes, all right,” Velanna agreed. “Let me out and I’ll take you home.”

“The darkspawn have your things,” Seranni went on. “You can still get it all back if you’re careful and clever. They’re going to come to check on you. You have to hurry.” She paused, and Daylen returned to his human form behind her. “Wait, where’s the other shem?”

“Here,” Daylen said softly, putting her to sleep and catching her, slowly lowering her to the floor. “The keys,” he hissed, pulling them from her belt and tossing them to Nathaniel. “She’s Tainted. Either she becomes a Warden or it’ll kill her.” He glared at Velanna. “And she’s not a prisoner.”

“How do you know that?” Velanna challenged.

“Because prisoners don’t get to walk around free, in armor, with weapons,” Daylen spat. “Nor are they typically dominated with blood magic.” He ran a quick diagnostic spell over Seranni. “There’s a great deal more corruption in her than she should have. But it’s…not manifesting. It’s like it’s being held back by something.” He tossed one of the daggers Seranni had been carrying to Sigrun, and the other to Nathaniel. “Anders, you mind carrying Seranni? We need to get out of here.”

The door opened again, a pack of darkspawn stomping through. Daylen’s frost spell caught them in place, impaling several on ice spikes, and the Warden hit the floor a moment later, gasping for air. “Oh, balls,” he rasped, trying to find his balance.

Oghren bashed in the last hurlock’s head with a loose rock, before turning to Daylen. “You all right?”

Daylen nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Barely got any strength. I’m going to need some lyrium and a few hours to get back to full strength. Come on, we need to get our stuff back. Out of all of that equipment, there's only one thing that can't be replaced," Daylen said. "We're going to find it."

Anders raised an eyebrow. "What is it that's so important?"

"A ring," the Warden said quietly. "Everything else, we could have remade or find something similar. That ring is unique."

"What's so important about this trinket?" Velanna asked.

The mage shuffled. "It's a long story."

"His woman gave it to him, back during the Blight," Oghren broke in. "There's some sort of magic link there. He never, ever takes it off."

"Oghren!"

The dwarf shrugged, relieving a dead darkspawn of a serviceable battleaxe and tossing a sword to Jukka. "It's not that long a story, Daylen. You know it isn't."

"Really?" Anders asked, shifting Seranni’s weight on his shoulder. "That's an interesting bit of magic."

They tried the other door, finding a lab filled with devices that none of the mages could fathom the purpose of. “Velanna, grab all the journals and notes you can carry. I want to know what this thing is planning.” They loaded what they could into a sack and Jukka slung it over his shoulder, passing his sword off to Sigrun. Daylen led the way out the other door, cutting through another group of darkspawn with help from the others. They recovered a set of finely enchanted dwarven-sized leathers that Sigrun slipped into, Daylen dragging Oghren away so the dwarf could dress in peace.

They emerged into a larger cavern, and Daylen glanced around. “Looks like we’re still in the silverite mines. That’s good news, at least.” He spotted a ghoul ahead. “Oi, Oghren, isn’t that your armor?”

“I…that thing has my things!” Oghren roared. “It’s got its sallow, clammy hands all over my doo-dads, touching my junk! _No one_ touches Oghren’s junk and lives!” With a bellow, Oghren charged the ghoul as Anders and Daylen shared a glance, both trying not to dissolve into giggles.

Once Oghren had worked out some of his frustrations on the ghoul and dressed, they pushed on, cutting through another pair of ghouls that had Sigrun and Jukka’s gear on them. They managed to find a set of functional mage robes for Velanna in the same room.

Daylen paused, sniffing the air as Cupcake whined. “Oh, fabulous. Stay alert. There’s dragons around here.”

Velanna paled. “Dragons?”

Daylen nodded. “That smell? It’s a dragon. I’ve fought a few in my time. Hopefully this place is too small for a High Dragon, but dragonlings and drakes are tough enough. Would be nice to tame a few, but I wouldn’t want to be the first one to try.”

Sure enough, several dragonlings were ahead, and Daylen sagged as he incinerated one with a bolt of lightning before Oghren tackled another, slicing its throat open on the edge of his axe. Anders and Velanna cast together, twin fireballs killing a third as Jukka cut down another ghoul that was wearing Velanna’s robes and carrying her staff. Daylen spotted several silverite deposits along the edges of the cave as they moved towards the exit.

Cupcake paused, sniffing the air again, and barked a warning, loping down a side tunnel. A badly injured man was laying abandoned on the floor, his legs badly crushed. Daylen sensed the Taint in the man’s veins as he looked up. “You’re the Warden-Commander! I…would not have expected to meet you here. Did those bastards get you too?”

“Not for long. I’m getting out of here,” Daylen replied. “Who are you?”

“My name is Keenan,” the man said. “I was to help rebuild the Fereldan Wardens, just as you were. We were at Vigil’s Keep less than a week when the darkspawn arrived. I had hoped you would avoid capture, would be luckier than the rest of us.”

“Rest of us?” Daylen echoed, his eyes widening. “The other Wardens from Vigil’s Keep – are any alive?”

Keenan shook his head. “None. I am the last.”

Daylen grimaced. “I arrived too late to help. I’m sorry.”

There’s no sense in regret,” Keenan replied. “You must escape. The darkspawn have some kind of plan for you, and it cannot be good. But listen – there is a darkspawn here carrying a huge maul. He crushed my legs. He took my wedding ring. Please, Commander, slay him. Bring the ring to my wife, Nida, in Amaranthine. Tell her I died trying to make this world better.”

“He wanted to make the world a better place?” Velanna echoed scornfully. “What an insipid line. Is that really supposed to make her feel better about his death?”

“I’m not with her,” Daylen commented to Keenan, shooting the elf a glare. “Maybe you could use your internal voice, Velanna.” He turned back to Keenan. “I’d rather bring you to your wife.”

“My legs are crushed, they’re beyond repair,” Keenan protested.

“Oh, come now,” Daylen snorted. “Even if I weren’t here, Anders could repair this damage in his sleep.” Chugging a lyrium potion from Anders’s belt pouch, Daylen set to work.

It took the two of them the better part of two hours, but Keenan stood, almost immediately falling over. Daylen caught him, slinging the man’s arm over his shoulders. “Sorry about that,” Daylen said. “I should have warned you – the muscle won’t be much use. You’ll have to work it back into shape.”

“I feel like a newborn colt, stumbling about like this,” Keenan grumbled.

“Don’t worry,” The Warden-Commander replied soothingly. “We’ll get you back in fighting shape. But you don’t get to give up, you hear?” Keenan nodded, accepting a crudely-made darkspawn crossbow from Nathaniel. “What are these darkspawn doing? You have any idea?”

“I’m not sure,” Keenan admitted. “The emissary who leads them is more cunning than any darkspawn I’ve encountered. And he’s fascinated with Wardens.”

“Yeah,” Daylen growled. “We’ve met. Bastard stole a bunch of my blood.”

They moved on, two more ghouls loitering in the mines ahead of them. “Anders, that’s your equipment, isn’t it?”

“Hey, that’s my stuff! Oh, you’re going to be in pieces when I’m done with you!” Setting Seranni down gently, Anders conjured a lump of stone, taking the ghoul’s head off cleanly at the shoulders. He stripped his robes and equipment from the corpse, pulling them over his head as the others killed the remaining darkspawn in the area.

“Finally,” Daylen hissed, pulling his robes and armor from the other ghoul. He pulled on his trousers and boots and slipped the ring Morrigan had given him back on, stuffing the rest of his equipment into his satchel and slinging it over his shoulder, his staff in his other hand.

"Er…Daylen?" Anders asked. "Aren't you going to…you know…put some clothes on?"

"No," Daylen said archly. "They took my armor and my weapons, thinking that it would make me weaker. They're going to see that I don't  _need_ armor, weapons, bombs, or potions to  _utterly_   _fuck this place up._ " He grabbed a lump of rock banded with silverite, stuffing the ore sample into his satchel and letting Keenan lean on him. “Come on. There’s work to do. Jukka, Oghren, take the lead.”

They located some more lyrium sand, taking everything of value they could along the way in between killing packs of darkspawn. Another handful of dragonlings and a single drake put up more resistance, along with a single hammer-wielding hurlock. Keenan bellowed a challenge at him, and a moment later the hurlock dropped with a crossbow bolt through its forehead.

“Nice shot,” Daylen said approvingly, helping the man hobble over once the drake had been felled. “You’re pretty good with a crossbow.”

“I was trained as a skirmisher,” Keenan explained as they came to a large hall.

Daylen tried the other door, fitting one of the keys Seranni had had into the lock. “I…oh, shit.”

“Is this a bedchamber?” Sigrun asked. “Do darkspawn even have those?”

“No. No, they do not. This Architect, whatever it is, is not a normal darkspawn,” Daylen said. “It talks, it thinks, it’s a bloody powerful mage. And it needs to die. Grab all the notes and books, any papers.” Once they were loaded up, they headed for the exit, stopping when Daylen noticed a single Qunari waiting by the door.

“You are not supposed to be here,” he said, as if they weren’t sitting in an abandoned mine filled with darkspawn.

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Daylen replied. “That’s why we’re leaving. You seem comfortable enough standing here, though.”

“They do not harm me. I bring them supplies. They give me gold.”

“Do you know what’s going on?” Daylen asked.

“No. All I care is that the darkspawn honor our arrangement. Questioning them would be…inadvisable. I have been promised protection from the corruption.”

“Why would the Qunari work with the darkspawn?” Anders asked.

The merchant all but snarled at him. “The Qun is a lie. I am Tal-Vashoth – an outcast. My life is my own. I do not help the darkspawn; I help myself.”

“Well, if you’re interested in helping yourself, you should know that we’ve killed most of your customers,” Daylen said matter-of-factly. “You open to trading at Vigil’s Keep?”

“Vigil’s Keep?” The Qunari hummed. “That is the Grey Warden’s keep, near Amaranthine. Yes, I know it. If there is coin to be had, Armaas will be there. We will meet again…if you survive this place.”

Daylen felt the power of the Architect ahead and whispered a warning to his companions as they entered a high-ceilinged hall. A tainted dwarven woman in heavily battered armor stood at the emissary’s side, both looking down at the Wardens from a landing.

“You took us prisoner,” Daylen called. “Took my blood. Experimented on us. Took our belongings. You say you do not want to be my enemy, but you have done nothing but harm us.” Without a word, the Architect turned and left, the dwarf right behind him. "Oi! Pinhead!" Daylen shouted at the retreating darkspawn. "Get back here and let me kill you!"

“Daylen, let it go,” Nathaniel urged. “We got what we came for. We can find it again.”

“Besides, we got bigger problems,” Oghren rumbled, pointing at a trio of dragons that had entered the hall.

“Aw, fuck,” Daylen groaned. “Keenan?” The man staggered away, scuttling towards the corner as Anders set down Seranni, the dragons charging as the dwarven Wardens engaged.

"We're gonna die!" Anders shouted.

"Think positive!" Daylen called back, trying to seem reassuring.

"We're gonna die quickly!"[1]

Velanna and Nathaniel took to peppering one of the dragons with arrows and spells as Jukka and Oghren distracted another, Sigrun sliding in behind and hamstringing the dragon. The perky dwarf rolled out of the way of a tail strike, Jukka taking advantage of the creature’s distraction to brain it with his mace. The dragon staggered and bellowed, only for Oghren’s axe to lop off its head cleanly. Blood sprayed across Jukka, and the Legionnaire sputtered, wiping his face.

Anders and Daylen were pooling mana, firing bolts of lightning and frost at the remaining dragon as Velanna’s magic crushed the other under a pile of entropic curses. It was only when the entire group converged on the final dragon that the battle became truly one-sided, and a moment later the creature fell, a crushing prison of force from Daylen closing around the creature’s head. Blood spurted from its eyes, ears, and snout as its skull was crushed, and the beast dropped.

“Anyone hurt?” Daylen panted, rooting around in his bandolier and finding a lyrium potion. A few minor scrapes were healed up, and the group headed for the exit. “Velanna, I mentioned it before that your sister was Tainted. There is a ritual that can save her, but we’ll need to return to Vigil’s Keep. She may not survive it, and even if she does, it won’t remove the Taint from her, simply stave off the eventual corruption for a few decades.”

“Decades is better than no time at all,” Velanna said fiercely.

“There’s more,” Daylen said, checking his waterskin and finding it empty. “Fuckers even took my water…” He shook his head. “If she survives the ritual, she’ll be a Grey Warden, and she’ll have to stay with the Wardens.” Velanna’s face darkened, but Daylen didn’t flinch. “This is the state of things.”

The elf wasn’t convinced. “And what of the creature who corrupted her? What will you do about it?”

“Track him, find him, _kill him_ ,” Daylen growled.[2]

“I want to help,” she said.

“He’s a darkspawn,” Oghren said as they cut back through the forest, squinting against the setting sun. “They’ll head underground, to the Deep Roads. They always do.”

“The home of the children of Stone,” Velanna mused. “Yes…they say Wardens can sense darkspawn even deep beneath the ground. I would join the Grey Wardens as well. Give me the ability to hunt down these monsters in the Deep!”

“The Joining could kill you,” Daylen replied. “Your sister may not survive. You want to take the chance yourself?”

“At the very least, it’s hard to get the taste out of your mouth for a few hours,” Anders added.

“I am not afraid of death!” Velanna snapped. “I will pledge myself to your service in exchange for the powers your order can grant. What say you?”

Daylen stared her in the eyes for a long moment, watching for any sign of indecision. “Very well. Welcome to the Grey Wardens.”

“ _Ma serannas_.  Shall we go then? I’ve had enough of this place.”

Nathaniel helped Keenan stumble into the wagon that had been left behind for them, and clambered in himself to take Seranni from Anders’ arms. Velanna climbed in and sat next to her unconscious sister, watching her as though she might vanish if Velanna took her eyes off her for a moment.

Anders nudged Velanna. “Have I ever told you that I find tattoos on women incredibly attractive?”

The elf glared at him. “Have I ever told you that I find most humans physically and morally repulsive?”

The mage smiled broadly. “Good to know!”

It took the better part of a day to get back to Vigil’s Keep, after dragging everything they could carry into the wagon, including a fresh dragon egg that Daylen threw in for lack of a better thing to do with it. With a heavily loaded wagon and the single ox that had been left for them by the merchants, it was slow going. Daylen estimated they had been stuck in the mine for most of a day.

And things weren’t any better when they got back, either. A mass of peasants were clamoring in the inner courtyard of Vigil’s Keep, blocked by a line of the Keep’s soldiers, all of whom looked nervous. A harried Garevel was speaking quickly to Varel as the Wardens made a surreptitious entrance to the outer courtyard.

“Everyone but Nathaniel, stay here,” Daylen ordered. “Get on the far side, Nathaniel. Keep an eye on the proceedings. I’d rather deal with this without bloodshed.” Transforming into a mouse, Daylen scurried around the crowd and through the entrance of the Keep, coming back out a moment later as a human. “What’s the situation?”

Varel did a double take upon seeing Daylen. “I…Commander?” He glanced at the crowd, before shaking his head. “Thank the Maker you arrived. Things are getting out of hand.”

“My son is starving!” one of the peasants shouted. “Open the granaries!”

“Bloody feed your people!” Another hollered.

“I fear this must be the work of the conspiracy against you and the Wardens,” Varel warned. “If the common folk just rose up on their own, I’ll eat my boot. Maybe you can say a few words? Calm them down, make them see reason?”

“Varel, you don’t coddle a revolt,” Garevel insisted as Nathaniel emerged from the shadows. “You put it down. Just give me the order.”

“Garevel, do you have any ideas that don’t involve hitting people with swords?” Daylen asked. “Honestly. Hold fast, men.”

“Daylen, I’m not suggesting killing anyone, but you can’t be soft on this,” Nathaniel warned. “You have to emphasize that you are the authority here.”

Daylen nodded. “Right.” He cracked his neck, raising his voice. “I understand that the situation is dire.”

“Enough about the bloody darkspawn!” The first peasant shouted. “We’re starving!”

Daylen grimaced. “I kill darkspawn by the score. What are a few peasants?”

That got their attention. The same man spoke again. “What? What do you mean?”

Daylen glared at them. “When I became your Arl I took an oath to protect you. I will do that. But if you stand against me, you will all die, and your families will suffer.”

“Y-you’re bluffing,” the apparent leader stammered. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“I killed an Archdemon,” Daylen replied. “Do you want to test your strength against mine?”

Several of the peasants made a hasty exit at that, and the leader tried in vain to rally them as the crowd began to disperse. “I don’t know how you did that,” Garevel remarked. “Men, stand down.”

Daylen shook his head. “There are more options than simply killing anyone who opposes you, man.” He turned to Varel. “We’ve got two new recruits, and one recovered Orlesian Warden. And some information.”

“Excellent,” Varel said. “Before this…mess began, some nobles were awaiting an audience with you.”

“Wonderful,” Daylen groaned, signaling his Wardens. “Come on, there’s probably another mess inside.” He paused. “Actually, Cupcake, come with me. Keenan, stay here. Everyone else, meet us in the throne room, but enter through the side doors, quietly.”

Daylen’s suspicions turned out to be correct when they entered the throne room and found that the nobles had come armed and armored, rather than in their usual finery. “Bann Esmerelle, the commander,” Varel said guardedly. “What was this urgent matter?”

Daylen glanced around, spotting several obvious hired swords, most of them wearing armor he recognized as Crow-issue. “I am here about the good arl,” Esmerelle replied coldly. “The good arl _you_ killed.”

“I wasn’t the one who killed him,” Daylen said calmly. “But by all means, continue.”

“Rendon was good to us. Good to me. And now his death will finally be avenged.”

"I don't think you understand just how unbelievably screwed you are," Daylen said, crossing his hands behind his back. In his current state, he wasn’t sure he could take them all alone, but luckily he wasn’t going to fight fair. "I have fought darkspawn across Ferelden. I killed an abomination of legend. I ended a centuries-old curse inflicted by a Dalish Keeper. I cleansed a Circle of abominations without killing a single innocent mage. I saved an entire village from destruction by the undead, journeying into the Fade to kill a demon on its own turf and rescue the soul of an innocent boy. I found the ashes of Andraste herself. I united a nation against the scourge of the darkspawn. I defeated Loghain Mac Tir in single combat and then recruited him into the Grey Wardens.  _I killed an Archdemon_. Antivan Crows, abominations, blood mages, demons, Tevinter slavers, cultists, undead, werewolves, golems, dragons, all faced me and fell before my might. And now, through hubris or idiocy, you have walked into my throne room with," He looked around, "A half-dozen disgruntled nobles and a few Crow assassins. And you really think that you stand a chance against me?" Daylen's face split into a grin. "Especially now that I've bought enough time for my troops to surround you?"

One of the Crows fell with an arrow through his neck, courtesy of Nathaniel's bow. Sigrun's daggers found another assassin's kidneys, and she yanked the blades free, blood streaming from her weapons as she hamstrung another Crow. Oghren barreled forward, and Daylen dropped a paralyzing glyph on the largest cluster of the would-be assassins. "Enough!" He barked as Sigrun knifed another Crow. Nathaniel eased the pressure on his bowstring, although he kept the bow aimed at the last Crow, who currently had Oghren's axe pressed against his throat and blood streaming from his forehead where the dwarf had smacked him with the flat of the blade. "Varel, have your men take these idiots into custody. We'll find out what they know. Then they'll hang."

“I’ll have trusted men clean this up,” Garevel promised. “We can keep this quiet for a while. There’s enough cause for panic already, Commander.”

“Good idea. Keep them down in the deepest, darkest hole you can find.” He turned to Varel. “There’s some other matters we need to attend to. Have the preparations made for the Joining. I’ll be down in the courtyard.”

“Another recruit?” Varel asked.

“A hostile mage with a history of murdering passers-by,” Daylen said bluntly. “And her sister, who was dominated by the Architect.”

Varel stared at him, before walking away, muttering. “I can’t believe it. ‘You’ll be seneschal,’ they said. ‘Serve the Warden-Commander,’ they said. ‘He’s a great leader,’ they said. If they had any idea…”

Velanna was watching the goings-on in the courtyard suspiciously, hovering over her sister. “We’ll conduct the Joining shortly,” Daylen said.

“What is the delay?” she demanded. “The longer we wait, the farther this corruption will advance in my sister!”

Daylen stared her down. “Velanna, I would remind you that _I_ am doing _you_ a favor here, not the other way around. I understand your concern. But you need to understand that this cannot be rushed. If it’s done incorrectly, the chance of death you both face becomes a certainty.” Velanna scowled, but nodded. “Good. Keenan? Can you make it up to a bunk on your own?”

“I’ll try,” the man said, dismounting unsteadily. “Thank you again for saving me, Commander.”

Daylen nodded. “Master Wade!”

“Yes, Commander?” The smith asked. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’ve brought the supplies for the golem-shell armor,” Daylen said. “I’d like it fitted to Jukka, if you wouldn’t mind. Also, I found some heartwood in an ancient sylvan. Can you do anything with it?

The man’s eyes widened. “Let me see, let me see.” Daylen pulled it out of the wagon, and Wade squealed happily. “If I were allowed to experiment with this, I might be able to make a bow…or a shield, yes.”

“Well, we brought some samples of lesser heartwood as well,” Daylen offered. “If you could practice on those, would you be able to make both out of the ancient heartwood?” Wade’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

“I can’t do that right now, you understand, but it’s possible. Here’s a list of the materials I need.” Daylen glanced down at it. “They may be a trifle hard to come by. But you must get them!”

“Actually, this should be fairly simple.” Daylen folded the paper up, stuffing it in a pocket. “I’ll send Jukka down when you’re ready to make the golem shell armor. In the meantime, I found another ore deposit.”

“Oh, excellent,” Herren chimed in. “We were almost out of iron and veridium.”

“Silverite,” Daylen said happily. “Amaranthine apparently is just full of mineral wealth. There’s an old mine in the Wending Wood, there’s still some deposits there. I can assign you guards for your miners, and the area is secure.”

“With this, Master Wade will have more than enough to equip all of your men suitably,” Herren replied.

“Thank you _so_ much for finding all this dreary metal,” Wade deadpanned. “Herren, you must be happy.”

“Ecstatic,” Herren replied, just as deadpan. “Now, now. No more time to waste!”

Daylen handed the list and some coin off to a requisitions officer, before corralling Voldrik. “Any luck finding the granite?” the dwarf asked. “We’ve gone as far as we can without suitable stone.”

“The Wending Wood has some dark granite,” Daylen replied, fishing out the samples. “Take a look.”

The dwarf examined the stone fragments in the dying light. “Hm. Splendid. But I can’t risk my men to darkspawn attacks. You’ll have to send soldiers to secure the site.”

“We’re going to be spread thinner than we are already,” Daylen said. “But you’ll have your guards. Area should be clear of darkspawn now, but I’ll task some troops to keep an eye on your workers.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Voldrik said gratefully. “The Vigil will not fall, I swear it.”

Daylen spotted Velanna still standing watch over Seranni, staring at a statue of Andraste that had been placed in the courtyard. “I should hate her, but I don’t. I can respect a woman who fights for freedom and justice.”

“But she’s human,” Daylen pointed out.

“I can look past petty hatred, when I have reason to. She freed the elven slaves.”

“Yeah, I think because they just happened to be there at the time,” Daylen mumbled.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Velanna mused. “Andraste fought a tyrannical empire, only to have her followers become one themselves.”

“I think ‘tyrannical empire’ is understating it, if anything,” Daylen agreed. “I’ve always thought so myself.”

“People with power never fail to abuse it. Even those with good intentions.”

“Agreed.” Daylen’s eyes were dark. “I’ve never been hated simply for my race, but I think I can understand a little of what you’ve been through.”

“I’ve heard of how the humans treat their mages,” Velanna remarked. “A travesty.”

Daylen nodded. “Humans have done a lot of terrible things. You won’t find me defending them. Velanna, I know as a human, you have no reason to trust me, but I’m hoping you can at least judge me on my own actions.”

“I…will try,” she said slowly.

“Thank you. I won’t ask you to forgive my race for what we’ve done to the elves.”

“A wise decision. I can never forgive, and I will never forget, but perhaps one day I will be able to move forward. Just as we should move on now.” She glared at Daylen. “Is the ritual ready yet?”

“Ser,” a messenger said, trotting up to them. “Seneschal Varel requests your presence.”

“It’s ready,” Daylen replied. “You sure you want to go through with this?”

The elf nodded resolutely, and Daylen slung Seranni over his shoulder. “Let’s go, then.”

—AOTG—

“Commander,” Varel said as they entered the room. “The Joining is ready.”

“I guessed as much. Seranni first,” Daylen said, setting the unconscious elf in a chair. “Give me the chalice.” With Velanna’s help, he gingerly tipped some of the potion into the elf’s mouth, stimulating her throat to make her swallow. A few moments later, the elf groaned, going rigid for a moment. Daylen checked her over. “Well, what do you know. She’s alive.”

“My turn,” Velanna said.

Daylen nodded, holding out the chalice. “From this moment forth, Velanna, you are a Grey Warden.”

“Then let it be,” she breathed, drinking. She dropped almost immediately, and Daylen caught the chalice in one hand and the unconscious elf in the other. He passed the chalice back to Varel, gently lowering Velanna to the floor.

The two men checked the elf over. “She yet draws breath, Commander,” Varel reported. “She will recover.”

“Excellent. I need you to assemble these materials,” Daylen said, holding a scrap of paper out to Varel. “Time is a factor.”

Varel’s eyes widened as he looked at the list. “Commander?”

“It’s an alchemical potion developed at Soldier’s Peak that unlocks greater levels of Warden abilities,” Daylen explained, before giving Varel a brief rundown on what they had found in the silverite mine. “If the Joining itself didn’t break the Architect’s hold on Seranni, I’m hoping this will. If nothing else, it’ll make my Wardens tougher than they are.”

The concoction didn’t take long to make, and Daylen and Anders took turns hitting the resulting sludge with lightning until it achieved the consistency that matched the notes Avernus had provided. Daylen assembled his Wardens, Rowland and Henrik’s platoon having returned from a patrol earlier in the day.

“All right, here’s the deal,” Daylen said. “This potion will unlock special abilities based on the Taint running through your bodies. Now, I’m a mage, and I’ve never seen this stuff used by anyone else, so I’m not sure exactly what will happen. I was provided with notes on the results, but reading and seeing are two different things.”

“What should we expect?” Sigrun asked.

“Well, according to the notes I was given,” Daylen consulted the papers, “tapping the power of tainted blood will make you more nimble, able to move and attack more quickly. That’s just a constant thing. If you’re looking for something more…proactive, your blood is going to be a weapon.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rowland said after a moment.

“I’ve used it before. The Taint in your blood can be used as a weapon. It’ll eat through flesh, some metals, and it hits darkspawn particularly hard. You can willingly cause it to spill and coat the edge of your weapons, or use it to knock back enemies if you’re surrounded.”

“I happen to like my blood inside me,” Anders commented.

“So do I, but it’s not always up to us,” Daylen replied. “It’s an option. I don’t personally use these spells often…or almost ever, really, but better to have and not need, right?”

“I must admit I’m not sold on this,” Rowland said.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be,” Daylen admitted. “But as I understand it, this stuff lets you properly master the Taint in your bodies. We’re not sure if it’ll stave off the Calling yet, but we’re looking into it.” He looked over as Seranni sat up, looking around wildly. “Oh, she’s awake.”

“Where am I? Who are you?” She glanced over. “Velanna?”

The elven mage stirred. “Seranni! Are you all right?”

“You’ve been corrupted,” Daylen said. “Here. Drink this. It’ll save your life.” Serrani eyed him suspiciously. “Oh, fine. Oghren?”

The berserker knocked back a slug of the concoction without hesitating, coughing and clearing his throat. “I’ve had worse drinks.”

“Now that we’ve proved it’s not poison…” Daylen held out two more tumblers filled with the potion. “It’ll help you master the Taint in your bodies.” Velanna grimaced as the potion took effect, and Serrani cried out, clutching at her head. “What do you feel?”

Serrani looked up at him, blinking hard. “What…what happened?”

“You were dominated by a very powerful darkspawn emissary,” Daylen said softly. “Do you remember?”

“It…” She shook her head. “It’s all a jumble.”

Daylen nodded. “All right. Take it easy, there’s a lot you need to know. My name is Daylen Amell. I’m the Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”

She stared at him a moment. “He…mentioned you, I think.”

“The Architect?” Seranni flinched. “Easy. Nobody here is going to hurt you. And I’ll die before I let that _thing_ get his claws on you again.”

“Seranni, what happened to you?” Velanna asked.

The elf closed her eyes. “A darkspawn captured me, and Rael. When I awoke, Rael was dead. He looked like he had smashed his head open on the wall.”

Daylen nodded. “We stole as much of the Architect’s notes and journals as we could carry. There was a darkspawn disciple called the Seeker. These disciples are intelligent, able to speak, and make their own decisions. He turned Velanna against the humans in the area.”

Seranni paled. “Velanna, what did you do.”

The elf raised her chin. “I was trying to force them to give you back.”

“She was misled,” Daylen interrupted, recognizing a volatile situation. “The darkspawn staged the camp to appear as if humans had killed your clan-mates and dragged you away. Reasonably so. But Velanna was attacking merchant caravans.”

“The reprisals-”

“There won’t be any reprisals,” Daylen interrupted. “The only people who know that it was a Dalish elf attacking the caravans are the people in this room, and the darkspawn. The darkspawn aren’t going to tell anyone, and as far as I’m concerned, the official story is that the darkspawn are responsible for the attacks.”

Serrani looked at him suspiciously. “And why would a shem want to make things easier on the Dalish?”

“Because I know what it’s like to be persecuted for what you are,” Daylen said, his eyes dark. “And I happen to be a friend to the Dalish. If your clan is still in the area, there are a few holdings that have recently opened up – as Arl I would be able to deed that land to you, and to defend your claim to it.” He scratched his beard. “But we’re getting off topic. You were corrupted by the darkspawn. When we were taken prisoner, I knocked you out, we carried you out of the mine, and I put you through the Joining to save your life. You’re a Grey Warden now.”

“A Grey Warden? Me?” The elf looked dubious. “Why?”

“Becoming a Warden involves taking the Taint into yourself in a controlled manner,” Daylen explained. “It’s not a cure. You’ve got about thirty years to live. The alchemical concoction you two just drank will help you master the Taint, and it might give you some more time, but it’s a new development.”

“Where is the Architect now?” Seranni asked.

Daylen shook his head. “I’m not sure. But we’re going to find him. And this ‘Mother’ some of the other darkspawn have been talking about.”

“The Mother,” Seranni repeated, her eyes unfocused. “She was a broodmother.”

“That would explain these Children we’re seeing,” Anders commented. “New darkspawn. Horrifying, even for darkspawn.”

Daylen nodded, before running through the ‘Warden primer,’ as he had taken to calling it, along with a briefing on the state of the arling. “So that’s the situation,” he finished. “I’m thinking I would keep you two with me. People are less likely to mess with a Dalish if they’re in a group with humans and dwarves.”

“We do not need your protection,” Velanna snapped.

“I’m not protecting _you_ ,” Daylen shot back. “I’d rather keep you from incinerating some poor fool who doesn’t know any better.” Seranni giggled, and Velanna shot her an annoyed look. “Now it’s been a long few days, so we’ll have some food sent up, and then you two can choose rooms for yourselves. Everyone else, get some kip. We’ve got more work to do tomorrow.”

Daylen had just collapsed onto his bed when there was a hammering at the door. An irate Nathaniel was waiting on the other side. “You know, when I said someone should take the painting down, I didn’t mean they should put it up _over my bed_!”

—AOTG—

Morning found the more experienced Wardens already geared up, Velanna and Seranni filing in hesitantly. “Good morning,” Daylen said, tugging his Warden-issue robes on over his dragonskin armor. “You two feel up to a trip out to the city today? We’re going to wrap up some business and poke around in a few late nobles’ effects.” Both nodded. “Excellent. Seranni, you’re a heavy skirmisher, if I understand correctly?”

“Correct,” the elf said nervously.

“Good.” Daylen dragged out a set of dragonskin armor in Warden colors. “Try this on, let’s see if it fits you properly. Velanna, there’s a-”

“My current robes are sufficient,” Velanna said flatly.

“And make you stick out like a sore thumb,” Daylen replied, throwing her a set of Warden mage robes that had been reinforced with layers of tanned dragonhide and dragonbone mail. “Now put these on.”

Mistress Woolsey poked her head in as the group was arming up. “Ah, Commander. A moment?”

“For you, anytime,” Daylen said with a grin, stepping into the hall with her.

She rolled her eyes, but a faint smile was tugging at her lips. “I do not know where you found them, Commander, but I appreciate your locating so many traders. The Qunari seems especially…dubious.”

“He’s not a Qunari anymore,” Daylen warned. “He’ll take offense if you refer to him as such.”

“Good to know,” Woolsey said, making a note. “But the Vigil’s market is busy once again. This will certainly aid in our upcoming efforts. The trade route south to Denerim has been secured, so goods should be coming into the city once again soon.”

“We’re going there today,” Daylen replied, tightening his bandolier. “The city guard asked for my help in taking down the smugglers that are draining the city dry – I’ve had so much else on my plate that I couldn’t take care of it immediately.”

“Excellent,” Woolsey said. “If you can eliminate the smugglers, we will have set this arling on the path to a speedy economic recovery.” She held out a report. “Our own finances are…rather healthier than they were before, as it is.”

Daylen skimmed over the page, his eyes widening. “This is the gross?”

“No, the net profit,” Woolsey replied happily. “Dragonbone equipment is _very_ highly-sought after.”

Daylen whistled. “That’s impressive.”

“With the surplus in the treasury, I took the liberty of establishing a fund for your Wardens to purchase equipment with. These funds are earmarked for that fund. Well done, Commander.”

—AOTG—

“I envy you, sometimes,” Velanna said as the wagon trundled along the path towards Amaranthine.

“Why?”

“Even the youngest human child knows of at least a dozen heroes of legend,” she said. “These tales are taken for granted, they are so abundant! Oh, it makes me angry, sometimes. We Dalish have lost most of our history and our legends. What we do remember, we hold dear.”

“It won’t make up for the lost stories, but we could share them,” Daylen offered. “Stories belong to everyone.”

“But does a human child value the tale of the Paragon Aeducan as much as he does Dane and the Werewolf?” she challenged. “Stories connect us to our past. They shape a people in profound ways. Without them, we are lost.” She sighed. “I just wish I could do something to restore this lost part of our soul.”

“So make your own,” Daylen said. “If none have survived, then make your own stories.”

She snorted. “Now you are just being ridiculous.”

Anders coughed. “Perhaps one day we could sit down to discuss magic?”

She glanced over at him. “What would that accomplish?”

“Lots?” Anders suggested. “Great civilizations are built on the sharing of ideas.”

“Sharing? You mean stealing, of course. Followed by crushing those you stole from.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “You know that chip on your shoulder? I think it has replaced _your head_.”

Nathaniel chuckled, and gave Velanna a genuine smile as she turned her gaze on him. “Your glares suggest that you do not care for my presence.”

“I am simply wondering how your kind can call yourselves ‘nobles.’ It seems ironic.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “We like irony. And it rolls off the tongue better than ‘oppressors,’ after all.”

Velanna nodded. “Ah, so you're a _funny_ human.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Not I. I wouldn't dare lighten your mood, my lady.” Velanna grunted, still glaring. “Still with the deadly looks, my lady?”

She scoffed. “Yes. ‘My lady’ is such a human thing to call someone.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “It is a term of respect. You think it's human to be respectful?”

“Now you're mocking me.”

“I think you're a lovely woman, and due some respect,” Nathaniel remarked. “So I call you a lady.”

Velanna scowled. “Well... stop it! You have no room to talk. You not only gave up on killing the Grey Warden who murdered your father, you actually joined the order.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight, Velanna? Baiting me like this is juvenile.” Nathaniel paused. “The Grey Wardens didn’t murder my father, and even if they had, he had it coming. How do you feel knowing you murdered all those people because you were too arrogant to check your facts?”

“Warm and fuzzy,” Velanna said firmly. Seranni shot her a disapproving look.

“You're a terrible person,” Nathaniel replied. “And your ears are clownish.”

“What?” Velanna squawked. “Who's juvenile now?”

When they arrived in Amaranthine, Daylen headed immediately for the foreign quarter, spotting the Dark Wolf leaning against a wall where they had met before. “Ah, Commander.”

“I hope my forty sovereigns went to good use.”

“Doors busted down, skulls thumped, and vices preyed upon,” the Dark Wolf said. “But I have answers.”

Daylen grunted. “It’s a bit late. The conspirators already made their move. I’m just trying to make sure that we got all of them.”

The man took a half-step back. “Your enemies have already acted?”

Daylen nodded. “It wouldn’t have reached your ears, though.”

“I could not unearth the conspirators’ identities. They are paranoid. But I know that they meet at Old Stark’s Farm on the Feravel Plains.” He paused. “If they have made their move and you still live, then they may be meeting there to plan another attack, or to flee and cover their tracks.”

Daylen nodded. “That would make sense. You have lived up to the reputation, Wolf.” He held out the additional coin he had promised. “Remember the rules.”

“Maker be with you, Commander.”

Daylen found Mervis in the market quarter. “I’ve dealt with your problem,” he said. “The killings should stop now.”

“Really? Oh, that’s wonderful news! I promised a donation, didn’t I? Here…take this, with the Merchants’ Guild’s compliments.” Daylen felt the weight of the bag of coin Mervis handed him and tried not to react visibly until they were around the corner, when he poked through it. “Sweet Maker, I didn’t expect they’d fork over this much. There must be thirty sovereigns here.”

“Shopping trip?” Anders asked.

Daylen nodded. “There’s been some enchanted rings and amulets in the market I’ve had my eye on. And there’s a merchant here that has _very_ good equipment for mages, but the prices are just shy of absurd.”

The next hour or so was spent dickering with various merchants, Daylen leveraging the news of the reopened trade routes to the hilt. Velanna picked up a set of enchanted gauntlets that would amplify her nature magic, and Anders picked up a set of new boots as Daylen was poring over a staff that appeared to be identical to the one that exploded in his hand atop Fort Drakon. He glanced over, his eyes widening.

"What's this?" Daylen asked, indicating another staff inside a case.

"Spellfury. I paid a small fortune for it, and nobody's been able to afford it. Got it off a Tevinter merchant."

"You mind if I try it out?" Daylen asked, dropping a bank draft on the table.

The merchant quirked an eyebrow. "Go ahead. Just don't break anything."

Daylen nodded, and the merchant unlocked the case, gingerly picking up the staff with both hands and handing it to the Warden-Commander. The moment the staff made contact with his hand, Daylen closed his eyes, hissing a breath in. He could feel his magic surging through the staff, resonating with the construction of the weapon. Raw, unformed mana coalesced around the end of the staff, and Daylen shuddered, moments before the spell went off, a bolt of half-formed magic shattering two vases and a window. "I'll pay for that!" The Warden-Commander said without opening his eyes.

"Some accidental discharge?" Anders teased.

Daylen cracked open an eye, looking at the merchant. "I'll take it. Add the cost of the damages in.” He glanced at a golden vase. “And this one too.”

“Any reason you bought that one?” Nathaniel asked as they circled around the city.

“It’s got your family crest on it,” Daylen replied, handing it to him. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

As they entered the Crown and Lion, Sigrun looked nervous. “I…there’s Mischa.” She approached the dwarf, coughing to get her attention.

“You? Going to get me kicked out of Amaranthine, too?”

“Keep it up and you’ll do it all on your own,” Daylen growled.

“I know that n-nothing I say will make things better, so I…want to give you this.” She held out a ring.

“A ring?” Mischa asked skeptically. “What is this, a proposal? You’re not my type.”

“It’ll…it’ll fetch a fair price, even on the surface. T-to help you rebuild your life.”

“This looks like the crest of House Vollney,” Mischa said, her lip curling. “Stole this off a noble, did you?”

“Vollney?” Daylen echoed. “Wait, your friend Varlan. Was that his? You can’t just give that away.”

“My weapons belong to the Legion or the Grey Wardens,” Sigrun said. “It’s the only thing I have left.”

“No,” Daylen said firmly. “Keep the ring. I’ll give Mischa some gold.”

Mischa’s eyes lit up. “How much are we talking? I reckon this thing’s worth at least twenty sovereigns.”

Daylen stared her down, making sure Mischa knew that she wasn’t fooling him about the price. “Then take thirty,” he said, fishing out the coin.

“You’ve a true friend here, Sigrun,” Mischa said. “Try not to ruin it.” She handed back the ring. “This must be important to you.”

“It is,” Sigrun replied. “Thank you, Mischa.”

“This will…go a long way,” Mischa said, looking at the coin Daylen handed her. “I could start another business. You’ve done right, Sigrun.”

As they exited the tavern, Daylen was carefully keeping his face blank. “I really appreciate that, Commander,” Sigrun said softly.

Daylen gave her a smile. “You’re worth every copper.” He spotted Velanna and Seranni looking at a tree planted nearby. “Something interesting?”

“This is a beautiful tree,” Velanna commented. “I did not expect to find one strong and thriving in a shemlen town.”

“Nature always finds a way,” Daylen replied. “It is rather beautiful.”

“You may not recognize it, but this is dahl’amythal – the tree of Mythal,” Seranni said.

“Our keepers’ staves are cut from its like,” Velanna added. “Our Keeper, Ilshae, had such a staff cut for me, for when I would take on her role.”

“You were her First?” Daylen asked. “Interesting.”

“Ilshae will have given my staff to someone else,” Velanna said. “Faladhin, perhaps. She was always fond of him.”

“Velanna,” Seranni began.

“Ah, enough of this,” the elven mage went on. “I wish to move on.”

Keenan came storming out of the tavern, tears in his eyes. “Keenan?” Daylen asked, intercepting the man. “What’s going on?”

“My wife…” he said, swallowing hard. “Is having an affair.”

Daylen grimaced. “I…I’m sorry, Keenan.”

The man shook himself. “She’s a living, breathing woman. I was gone for months at a time, with no way to contact her. What did I expect?”

“What you expected was that she would wait and be faithful,” Daylen retorted. “That is part of the Orlesian wedding vows, isn’t it? It’s certainly the case here in Ferelden.”

Keenan shrugged. “She asked me herself whether it was better for her to be alone in a strange country, wondering if we’d ever have a family.”

Daylen growled. “Marriage isn’t about what’s better for one person – it’s about supporting your partner! And if you can’t communicate that…” he shook his head. “Look, Keenan, we’ve only known each other a few days, but please, believe me – this wasn’t your fault.”

“Love can only take you so far,” Keenan whispered.

“That’s _bullshit_ ,” Daylen snapped, before calming himself. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

“Ah, Warden-Commander,” Constable Aidan said as they approached. “I take it you’ve decided to help us?”

“I would have been here sooner, but there’s been a great deal to do,” Daylen apologized. “I need your help on something as well.”

“Anything, Commander.”

“I need you and two or three of your most-trusted men to come with me.” It took only a few minutes to assemble the group and enter the late Bann Esmerelle’s estate. A few servants were very alarmed to see several armed intruders, including the Arl, but were quickly calmed and directed the investigation team to the Bann’s study.

Daylen glanced over at Nathaniel, who was looking through some ledgers and frowning deeply. “She was very precise about her records, wasn’t she?”

“Too precise,” Nathaniel replied, shutting the ledger. “These are faked.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “You can tell that just by looking at them?”

“If ledgers are this thorough, this organized, and this brilliantly clean,” Nathaniel explained, “then they are almost certainly falsified.” He began rifling the bookshelf, finding a second set of ledgers. “And here we are.” He skimmed through them, whistling quietly. “Oh, my. Constable?” Aidan looked at the ledgers, his eyes growing wide and a grin splitting his face.

“Something useful?” Daylen asked, amused.

“Ooooh yes,” Aidan hissed. “You see, the smugglers I was interested in you pursuing are lower-level workers. Lieutenants, at most. These ledgers detail dealings with the heads of the organization. Cut the head off the snake, the body will die.”

Daylen nodded. “We should take the body as well, though. Make the arrests, take the ledgers to the magistrate. We’ll go after the smugglers themselves. We may be able to take care of this entirely.” He led Anders and Nathaniel down the stairs, rejoining the other Wardens in the entry hall. “Oh Oghren? How would you like to go kill a bunch of criminals?”

Oghren stared at him. “Is this a trick question?”

“We’re going smuggler hunting,” Daylen replied.

The berserker wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “And it’s not even my birthday.”

—AOTG—

“Nathaniel, Keenan, on the left,” Daylen murmured. “Sigrun, Jukka, Anders, on the right. Oghren, Cupcake, with me. Seranni, Velanna, hang back in case we need you. You’re our heavy backup.” He approached the suspected smuggler. “Good afternoon.”

“Greetings, could I interest you in…” he trailed off as he recognized Daylen. “Wait a minute, my lads said they saw you talking to the-” He broke off as Daylen’s fist slammed into his gut, the bars across the knuckles of his gauntlets impacting a solid plate. “You’ll learn not to stick your nose where it don’t belong,” the man snarled, a mage shield snapping into place around him.

“Oghren, cleanse him!” Oghren raised his hands to perform a cleanse, only to duck back as several hired thugs darted out from an alley. Sigrun, Jukka, and Anders engaged them.

“Go!” Jukka shouted. “We got this!” Daylen was already in pursuit, the smuggler sprinting away through the narrow streets. He skidded around a corner and ducked a fireball as an apostate mage attacked, Nathaniel dashing out a moment behind him and dropping the mage with an arrow through the neck. Daylen dashed forward, his staff still slung, and channeled frost magic into the ground, freezing the next batch of thugs to the ground as Oghren, Nathaniel, and Keenan fell upon them. Cupcake was hot on his heels as Daylen continued chasing the smuggler, another pack of thugs running out ahead of him only to be immediately dropped as Velanna and Seranni caught them from behind.

The man was dashing out the front gates of the city when Daylen whistled to Cupcake, pointing at the man. The hound snarled and lunged, catching the smuggler’s legs out from under him and dragging him across the ground. Another pack of thugs emerged from an abandoned house, and Daylen drew his staff, firing a bolt of arcane energy at the lead thug. The bolt blew a hole clear through the man’s leathers and his chest, the corpse hitting the ground a moment later.

Daylen wasn’t sure who was more surprised, the thugs or him. “Holy _shit_ ,” he mumbled, looking down at the staff in his hands. “This thing has some kick to it.” He grinned at the remaining thugs. “Anyone else want to take his chances?” Their weapons clattered as they hit the ground, and the rest of his Wardens arrived within a minute, all of them bloodstained but unharmed.

“There’s a lot of bodies back there,” Oghren chuckled. “All of them theirs.”

“Got some prisoners,” Daylen said, gesturing at the surrendering thugs. “Seranni, Jukka, Sigrun, Velanna, can you keep an eye on them for me?” He paused. “And please don’t kill any of them unless they get mouthy?” A few of the prisoners flinched. “I’ll level with you, boys, if you want some honest work I may have something for you, but you’re probably in for it otherwise. Meantime, I have to go have a word with your boss.”

“Er, Daylen,” Nathaniel interjected, nudging him. “That bloke over there, he’s one of them, right?”

Daylen glanced over, seeing Cupcake still dragging the protesting smuggler around, clearly enjoying himself. “That doesn’t bend that way, that doesn’t bend that way!” There was a wet crunch as the joint came apart. “Oh, _now it does_!”

“Cupcake! Bring ‘im here!” The hound pulled the smuggler over, and Daylen hooked his foot under the man and flipped him onto his front, planting a boot on his chest. “Hello there. Here’s how this is going to go. I ask questions, you answer. You answer truthfully and willingly, you don’t get hurt. You lie, or hold out,” Daylen shrugged. “If I’m feeling merciful, I’ll let my hound have you.” He leaned closer, subtly pressing harder on the smuggler’s chest. “And trust me.” Lightning sparked across Daylen’s hands. “I’ll know if you lie.”

The man talked. Willingly, honestly, almost frantically, especially when he glanced over and saw Cupcake licking his chops. The men were stripped of their weapons and armor and sat awaiting proper arrest under the watchful eyes of the Warden detail Daylen had set.

“All right, come on,” Daylen said quietly, turning over the key the smuggler had given him. “Stay close, stay alert.”

The trapdoor the smuggler had directed them to led through a tunnel to a concealed cove, where several small boats were waiting. A dozen smugglers were working on another shipment, only to fall to steel and some well-placed fireballs.

"First of the three rules of leadership," Daylen explained, flipping over one of the corpses. "Always look and act like you know what you're doing any people will think you do. Makes things a lot easier when you have to bluff your way past some guards or talk a merchant into handing over his entire inventory because he thinks it's been contaminated with plague-bearing magic fleas."

"Magic fleas?" Anders echoed. "What, they can cast spells?"

"Of course!" Daylen said. "It's very unnerving to see a flea cast a fireball spell, trust me."

Anders blinked. "Daylen, are you messing with me?"

"Maybe a little."

"All right then, what's the second rule of leadership?" Anders asked.

"Always have an escape plan." Daylen thought for a moment. "I break that one a lot."

"Most of your plans seem to rely on punching things, yes," Anders replied dryly. "And the third?"

"Never let them see you bleed. A wounded enemy may be more dangerous, but the more unstoppable and untouchable you seem, the more likely people will be to not even pick a fight in the first place. Build a reputation and let it fight your battles for you."

Daylen left Oghren and Anders to watch over the crates of goods that had been stashed in the cove and took Cupcake, Keenan, and Nathaniel with him down another tunnel, emerging in the basement of the Crown and Lion and delighting the owner, who had been stubbornly refusing to cooperate with the smugglers.

By the end of the day, the organized crime in the city had been brought to a screeching halt, with dozens of arrests made and hundreds of sovereigns worth of goods reclaimed. “Think you can take it from here?” Daylen asked Aidan.

The constable nodded. “The city of Amaranthine owes you a great debt. Thank you, Commander.”

Daylen looked to his companions. “We’ve got one more thing to take care of, and then we’ll head back to the Keep.”

—AOTG—

“Those fools should never have acted directly against him like that,” one of the nobles said. The four remaining conspirators were huddled around a small fire in a barnhouse, out on the abandoned Old Stark’s Farm.

“We know that now,” another spat. “But that’s not the issue. The question is what do we do now?”

“We flee,” a third insisted. “If we stay, we’ll be exposed!”

“If we flee, we’ll be exposed,” the first protested. “Innocent people don’t run.”

“Shh!” A fourth hissed. “Did you hear something?”

“We’re surrounded by guards,” the second replied, rolling his eyes. “It would be impossible for anyone to sneak up on us.”

“I don’t know about that,” Daylen said from just outside the circle of firelight. “Your guards – _stop screaming_ – your guards didn’t put up much of a fight.” He clicked his fingers, paralyzing the four nobles. “You swore oaths of fealty, all of you. I haven’t been in power a month and you already tried to assassinate me. And I could have dealt with that, if you hadn’t been so ham-fisted about it.” He gazed at them sadly. “It’s a shame, really. Even if you had worked with Howe, I would have ensured your advancement and helped you grow in wealth and power as long as you kept your noses clean.” He shook his head. “Well, this farm has been abandoned for some time. I suppose a fire wouldn’t be too noticeable.” He opened the door and grabbed a shuttered lantern from outside, opening the shutters and casually smashing it against the far wall. Burning oil fell onto discarded straw and caught fire as the nobles watched helplessly. Daylen turned to leave. “That paralysis spell will wear off in a few minutes. If you’re still alive by then, I suppose you have a chance to escape. If you have any sense, don’t ever show your faces in my arling again.” He shut the door behind him as the flames grew higher, covering the door with a thick layer of frost to ensure the doors stayed closed.

“We done here?” Oghren asked as smoke began to pour from cracks in the barnhouse’s roof.

“And so ends the conspiracy,” Daylen murmured. “Let’s get back to the Keep. I say we get a good night’s sleep under our belts.”

—AOTG—

_The Port City of Amaranthine  
Outside of Ferelden, the City of Amaranthine is now synonymous with the arling herself, but before the Orlesian invasion, it was only a modest fishing village despite a deep port well-suited to commerce. At that time, few other kingdoms had any need to trade with the Fereldan "barbarians"._

_The city changed rapidly with the Orlesians came. They built temporary docks to accommodate ships packed with chevaliers, and for a time, Amaranthine was the capital of occupied Ferelden. The bann of Amaranthine became one of the wealthiest nobles in the kingdom, as goods like wool were leeched from the city's swollen ports._

_During the liberation, the fleeing Orlesians looted the city but left it otherwise unscarred. She recovered quickly. Ironically, Amaranthine's current prosperity is the legacy of Orlesian occupation. Do not share that opinion with the locals, mind._

_\--From Annals of Northern Ferelden, By Brother Bedine, Chantry scholar_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1Scooby Doo. [ return to text ]
> 
> 2The Expendables 2. [ return to text ]


	8. The Blackmarsh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens head into the Blackmarsh and pick up another member for the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Sigrun  
"A wise man once told me never to argue with someone better-armed than the entire warrior caste on parade."_

_Sigrun is a member of the Legion of the Dead, warriors exiled from Orzammar and sent on suicide missions against the darkspawn. The Warden-Commander found Sigrun fleeing a darkspawn next in Kal'Hirol, one of the last survivors of her group. She has broken the Legion's oath by not fighting to her death._

_Sigrun joined the Warden-Commander to destroy the darkspawn nest. After Kal'Hirol was purged of darkspawn, Sigrun agreed to join the Grey Wardens. She survived the Joining._

_Sigrun is fascinated by the surface world. She collects little curios from all over Thedas._

—AOTG—

Nathaniel had taken the point position and paused, sniffing the air. “Anyone else smell smoke?” he asked.

“We did just burn down a farmhouse,” Sigrun pointed out.

“But we’re walking _into_ the wind,” Nathaniel protested. “Unless there’s fire ahead of us, we wouldn’t smell it.”

Sure enough, there were trees on fire ahead of them, and the mages quickly set to quenching them with bursts of frost magic. It was only when Velanna and Seranni stiffened that Daylen noticed a small group of Dalish elves watching their work. “Oh. _Andaran atish’an_ ,” Daylen said.

The lead elf was nonplussed at Daylen’s response, but recovered quickly. “ _Andaran atish’an_ , travelers. Do not be startled. We only wish to be on our way.”

“No conflict here,” Daylen said warmly. “We’re Grey Wardens. I’ve fought alongside the Dalish before. They’re honorable people.”

“Marren?” Velanna said softly.

Marren looked past Daylen, his face darkening slightly as he recognized her. “Velanna! Well, this is certainly a surprise. You, traveling with-”

“Humans, yes,” Velanna said. “Believe me, the irony does not escape me, clanmate.”

“We are no longer your clan, Velanna,” Marren said coldly.

“Excuse me?” Daylen asked. “Pardon the shemlen’s confusion here.”

“Velanna was exiled,” Marren said. “She does not have a clan. We-”

“Stop,” Velanna interrupted. “I do not wish to speak of this.”

“At least you still have Seranni with you,” Marren replied. “What of the others? Dead?”

“Killed by darkspawn,” Velanna said. “We have joined the Grey Wardens. We are hunting the ones that did it.”

“Please, take a message to your Keeper,” Daylen interjected. “I serve as Arl of this land. If the Dalish wish to remain in this area, they are welcome to do so. I will _personally_ deal with any human dumb enough to antagonize you.”

“Thank you, whoever you are,” Marren replied. “You have my gratitude.”

“Ilshae will be glad to know this,” Velanna pressed. “Tell her she was right. Oh, I can see her smug-”

“Ilshae has passed on,” Marren said flatly. “You know nothing but hatred. The clan is better off without your poison.”

“Oh. _Ir abelas_ ,” Daylen replied. “I am sorry for your loss. A Keeper passing on is always a great blow to a clan.”

“What do you know of the Dalish?” Marren asked skeptically.

“I worked with Keeper Zathrian in the Brecelian Forest,” Daylen explained. “I ended a curse that was setting werewolves on the clan.” He carefully avoided mentioning that the curse and the attacks were Zathrian’s fault. “When he passed on, I worked with Keeper Lanaya through the Blight.” He leveled a stare at Marren. Velanna has changed. She’s done good things.”

“A _human_ is willing to defend you?” Marren said to Velanna. “This speaks volumes.” He glanced at his companions, nodding. “Ah, we have lingered too long. Andruil guide your path, Velanna.”

The Dalish moved on, and Daylen re-froze a tree that looked to still be smoldering before turning to Velanna. “Do not make a fuss over me!” She snapped before he could say a word. “Let us be on our way.”

—AOTG—

“Wow,” Sigrun marveled, looking at a bookcase in the throne room of Vigil’s Keep the next morning. “I’ve never seen so many books in my life.”

Daylen skimmed a few of the titles. “Seems like every third one is about mabari hounds. Can’t fault Fereldans for consistency.” He glanced down at the dwarf. “They’re all at your disposal. I think there may have been another library in the Keep, but it was stripped. Howe took almost everything that wasn’t nailed down.”

“This one’s a Nevarran romance,” Sigrun said, flipping through a book. “Pretty spicy, too, from the looks of it. What’s an Antivan milk sandwich?” Still looking at the book, she didn’t see Daylen grinning at a memory of an afternoon at the Circle. “Oh. _Oh, I see_. I’ll just…put that back.”

“I didn’t know that casteless were taught to read,” Daylen remarked.

“They aren’t,” Sigrun replied. “My friend Varlan – I told you about him, the noble from House Vollney – he taught me to read.” She paused. “He embraced the Legion’s philosophy – that we were already dead. I couldn’t let go like that.”

“There isn’t necessarily a conflict,” Daylen pointed out. “I mean, really, you owe the Legion a death, but you don’t have to do it immediately, do you?”

Sigrun winced. “About that. I need to thank you – for letting me join the Grey Wardens, for showing me the surface. But I hope you don’t think I’ve abandoned the Legion.”

“I know you haven’t,” Daylen said. “But I need you as a Warden. Our purposes are the same – we kill darkspawn.”

“In Dust Town, my word meant nothing to anyone. Then I joined the Legion and took a vow to protect Orzammar. That’s worth something. For once, _I’m_ worth something. And I must honor that…even if it means I’ll die.”

“You were worth something even before that,” Daylen insisted. “The dwarves don’t know everything, Sigrun. The fact that the caste system even exists is proof of that. And I’ve seen you fight. You dying won’t happen for a long time.”

“That’s what worries me, Commander. In the Legion, death looms over us constantly, like a dirty uncle. Here, death seems distant.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “When the surface is safe, I’m going back to the Deep Roads. For a Warden’s last walk. For the Calling.”

“Out of the question,” Daylen said immediately. “I won’t permit it. You can’t. It’s not your time yet.”

“You can’t make that choice for me, Commander,” Sigrun replied tersely. “Each Warden decides when she is ready, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, but-”

“I finally understand what Varlan met. I never accepted my sentence. Raging against it only caused me pain. Now that I’ve been granted a reprieve, now that I have a choice, I know what I must do.”

“I…” Daylen paused, swallowing hard. “Look, Sigrun, I won’t deny that it’s your right. But…you’ve lost friends. I don’t want to lose mine. I need you up here, fighting, passing on your skills to new Wardens.”

“I…I’m touched, but I’ve made up my mind,” Sigrun said. “But the darkspawn still threaten the surface, and that is my first concern.”

Daylen nodded and excused himself, walking past Keenan and Jukka teasing each other. “You shouldn’t insult people that are bigger than you,” Keenan was saying.

“Then I wouldn’t get to insult anyone,” Jukka replied. Keenan snickered. “Oh, Commander. Velanna was looking for you. She’s down in the garden.”[1]

“We have a garden?” Daylen asked.

—AOTG—

“Stop screaming, it won’t kill you,” Velanna scoffed.

“The fact that it’s wrapping vines around my neck notwithstanding, right?” Daylen rasped as the plant tightened its grip. Velanna spoke sharply in Elvish to the plant, and it released, Daylen rubbing his throat as he examined the plant. “I didn’t know that this plant grew in this climate.”

“It doesn’t,” Velanna sniffed. “But the Dalish have their own abilities with nature.”

“So I see,” Daylen remarked. “I was under the impression the garden here was dead. That must have been some impressive nature magic.” The garden was overgrown with thick bunches of bushes, plants, and several packs of vines as thick as his wrist that were crawling up the walls of the garden. A solid layer of grass was under their boots, and Daylen spotted a sapling that looked vaguely like the tree Velanna had commented on in Amaranthine.

“All things a First would learn in the course of their training,” Velanna said. A bush shivered and snapped at Daylen as though it had jaws, and the Warden-Commander took a careful step back, raising a wary eyebrow at the elf. “It only bites people it doesn’t like. They will come to tolerate you, as I will.”

“Tolerate, eh?” Daylen said with a half-grin. “I can live with that.”

“You’ll have to,” Velanna replied. “Are you at all curious about my exile?”

Daylen glanced at their surroundings. “If I said yes, would that earn me a tongue-lashing, or would your garden just eat me?”

“You make me out to be some kind of shrill harpy!” Velanna cried.

“My mistake,” Daylen deadpanned. “Yelling is _clearly_ out of character for you.”

“You…” She sighed. “Fine. I suppose your mockery is justified. The humans near where you met me were trying to drive my clan away. For a while, we resisted. Then they tried to burn us out. They would have destroyed the entire forest just to keep us from their farms.” Daylen grimaced. “The others were afraid. Keeper Ilshae said that if I wanted to fight the shemlen, I would fight them alone.”

“Are the humans worth so much trouble?” Daylen asked.

“The shems give us land one day and take it back the next. By their rules, we would wander forever. They had run us ragged. It was time to stand and fight! Thus I called Ilshae a coward, and I turned away from the clan.”

“That’s…” Daylen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I would say it was reckless to fight a battle you had no hope of winning, but I made a name for myself doing basically that exact thing. What about Seranni and the others?”

“Seranni only followed me in the hopes of changing my mind. A few others wanted what I wanted, and left with us. They are dead now.”

Daylen shook his head. “I know with the history humans have with elves, there’s no reason to take me at my word. But your clan would be welcome in these lands. There are some openings here, especially with the conspirators dead. You would have your own land, rights equal to a human, and a voice.” He paused. “And King Alistair did deed the hinterlands to the south to the Dalish. For however long _that_ will last, before some Arl or Bann out there finds out there’s gold or diamonds or some particularly nice-looking hill on their land and starts trying to mess with the elves again.”

“This news should be passed along to the Dalish,” Velanna said softly. “Seranni could take word to our clan. An Arlathven is coming up, I believe.”

Daylen shrugged. “It’s a thought. If we can solve the issues here in Amaranthine, using her as a messenger would be possible. Was that what you wanted to speak to me about? Your exile?” She nodded. “Velanna, the humans have deeply wronged your people, and repeatedly. I still think that there’s hope for a peaceful coexistence, though.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asked. He nodded. “You may be very naïve, or you may simply be more of an optimist than I.”

“No reason both can’t be true,” Daylen pointed out, fishing around in his satchel. “By the way, I got you this.” He handed her a book, and watched her flip through it.

“This book is empty,” she said, rather unnecessarily. “Why have you given me this useless object?”

“Because you are going to fill it,” Daylen replied.

“Fill it with what? Recipes for roast boar and pudding?”

“Well, that sounds tasty, but I was thinking stories for the Dalish,” Daylen said.

“Stories? For the…” her eyes widened. “Oh. It’s the silliest idea I’ve heard, but…but brilliant at the same time.”

“I’m full of those.”

“The Dalish will never recover what we’ve lost,” she said. “It may be time to start creating tales anew. Perhaps one day they will be what connects my children and their children to their past – to me.” She closed the book gently. “I…I see now that this is a gift to be treasured. And I…I thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Daylen replied. “Yet. Fair warning, I plan on making copies. Human children should know of Dalish stories, as well.”

He left the garden, finding Anders loitering in the courtyard and eyeing up a statue of Andraste someone had seen fit to drop in the middle of the courtyard. “Was Andraste really that much of a looker?” he asked as Daylen approached. “Don’t you think she would have been, I don’t know, a barbarian?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a historical figure got changed along the way,” Daylen said. “Why?”

“Just wondering aloud,” Anders replied. “After all, Andraste did exist, didn’t she? What would she have thought of the Circle of Magi? Forcing mages to fight demons or be made Tranquil?”

“Well, as someone who fighting against mages, she’d probably think it was a good start,” Daylen grumbled. “But as the ‘bride of the Maker,’ she’d probably be confused by it.”

“No doubt you’re right,” Anders said. “Seems to me that Andraste counseled men to seek their own path to the Maker. But the Chantry uses her words as a reason to collar us just for being who we are.”

“I completely agree,” Daylen replied. “For all the times they say ‘magic is meant to serve man and never to rule over him,’ they really aren’t big on the serving part. I mean, they don’t teach any sort of useful skills to mages beyond combat, healing, and enchanting. We’re weapons to them, nothing more.”

“Well of course,” Anders agreed. “If mages have life skills, they’ll be able to live free of the Circle, and mundane skills hardly engender fear in a populace that the Chantry _needs_ to fear mages. How do you scare peasants with stories about demons when the local mage has delivered half the town’s kids and saved the village from a fire?”

“Exactly,” Daylen said. “It’s all control. If the mages are active members of the community because of their magic, the community won’t fear them. A single mage could eradicate disease and infections in a village, yet even herbal medicine is scarce.”

“We’re just slaves to them.”

“A civilization cannot be civil if it condones the slavery of another. And that is what this Circle is! But by accident of birth, those mages would be free to live, love, and die as they choose. The Circles will break—if it be one year, a decade, a century, or beyond. Tyrants always fall, and the downtrodden always strive for freedom,” Daylen quoted.

Anders nodded. “Aldenon. Didn’t he die?”

“At some point, probably,” Daylen replied. “I suppose we’re just trying to convince each other of something we already believe.”

The healer nodded. “So now that I’m a Warden, what do I do?” Anders asked. “If my own chains are broken, what do I do now?”

Daylen shrugged. “Be their hero, their monument, be anything they need you to be. Or, be none of it. You don’t owe the world a thing. You never did. I _choose_ to use my gifts to heal and help people. You don’t have to choose to do the same. This is freedom, Anders.”

“Freedom,” Anders echoed. “Right.”

“Anders,” Daylen said softly. “You know, thinking about it, I remember that every time you escaped, they always caught you heading north, usually trying to take a ship someplace. Kirkwall, wasn’t it?” Anders stared him down. “Were you trying to find someone?”

Anders hesitated, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. There was a boy at the Circle, an older boy. Karl Thekla. I was still an apprentice when we met. We were…close.” Daylen nodded in understanding, but Anders didn’t see it, his eyes downcast. “Not long after we were Harrowed, he was transferred to the Gallows at Kirkwall.”

Daylen sighed. “I see. You know, we, well, after this is done…we could go to Kirkwall.” Anders looked up at him in surprise. “I mean, we _do_ need more Wardens, and he _is_ a mage, and we _could, theoretically_ , go to Kirkwall and conscript him and free him from the Circle.”

Anders’ jaw dropped. “You would do that?”

“Well, not me, no, I wouldn’t conscript him,” Daylen said. “You would. I wouldn’t deny you the pleasure of telling the Circle exactly where to stuff their views on mages.” Anders grinned. “The offer’s open. If nothing else, I’ll write you a pass or whatever so you can go there for a visit.”

“I don’t know about putting him through the Joining,” Anders admitted. “It’s risky, and I haven’t…I haven’t seen him in years, five or six years. He was always better at adjusting than me. Not seeing him again would be better than knowing he died choking on a mouthful of darkspawn blood.”

Daylen nodded. “Understandable. Let’s change the subject, then. You have any hobbies?”

Anders considered the question. “Does escaping from the Circle count?” Daylen snorted. “Not really, no.”

“Might help you adjust to this place,” Daylen suggested. “Sigrun’s spending her time in the library. Velanna’s taken to gardening. Nathaniel, Rowland, and Jukka are training the garrison. I suppose sleeping with the local nobles’ daughters could be considered a hobby.” Anders smirked at him. “Or you could head down to the dungeon and spend some time taunting Rylock.” The mage’s face lit up. “Just be careful. We haven’t been giving her a lyrium ration, so she’s bound to be in withdrawal by now, and she might still be able to hit you with a Holy Smite.”

“Maybe I’ll hold off on that for now,” Anders mused.

“Think it over. I’ve got to have a word with Oghren.” The dwarf in question was scratching out a letter, perched on top of a low wall with an empty bottle of whiskey next to him. “That your first bottle in the last hour?”

The berserker squinted at him. “I think? There were three or four in the hour before it, though.”

“Good, so you’re more or less sober. I got a job I want you to do.”

“Give me five minutes to go get my axe,” Oghren said.

“It involves brewing alcohol, not murder,” Daylen replied.

Oghren paused. “Give me five minutes to go get my axe.” Daylen waited patiently until the dwarf returned with his weapon. “All right, what’s this job?”

“Well, I’m thinking that rather than simply drinking during _all_ of your off hours, you could spend some time making alcohol to drink.” Daylen scratched his beard. “We’ve got a lot of open space in the cellars, now that they’re being properly reinforced, and I figure we could get some brewing vats down there.”

Oghren grunted. “You’ll need some frost runes, too. Back in Orzammar, they have a newer kind of beer. It’s not ale, you’d have to distill it during colder months up here, but we can make do with some runes. Need some good-quality copper, too, for a good still or two…some good barley or wheat, some yeast…” He looked up, seeing Daylen taking notes. “You’re serious?”

“If the coming few weeks are anything like the past few have been, we’re going to need all the alcohol we can get,” Daylen replied. “I’ll talk to Velanna, see if we can get her to grow some hops too.”

—AOTG—

“It’s so much easier fighting darkspawn on the surface,” Sigrun remarked as the group ignited the bodies of the last warband they had come across. “On a clear day, you can see for leagues. I once heard about a contraption known as a…” She paused. “A spyglass? I think that’s what it’s called. My friend Varlan said they let you see distant enemies as though they were right beside you.”

Nathaniel nodded. “They do. They’re very useful.”

“That sounds like magic,” Sigrun marveled.

“Qunari invented it,” Daylen called, adding another burst of flame to the pile to make sure they burned properly. “It’s not magic, though. Shaped glass.”

“Then they must be the cleverest people in Thedas,” Sigrun said.

Daylen and Anders winced. “Not quite,” Daylen replied. “The things they do to their mages would make the Chantry hesitate.”

“In the Deep Roads, the darkspawn can appear from nowhere. A spyglass sounds the very opposite. Someday, while I’m still on the surface, I’d like to look through one.”

Daylen coughed. “You mean like this?” He fished one out of his satchel. “I found it on one of the militiamen back in the Wending Wood.”

Sigrun squealed happily as she turned it over in her hands. “Oh, it’s exactly as Varlan described! But shinier! May I…keep it?” Her face fell. “I know I shouldn’t. We’re not supposed to have things in the Legion.”

“Well, Grey Wardens are allowed to have things,” Daylen pointed out, hoping to edge her towards thinking of herself more as a Grey Warden than a Legionnaire. “We have one back at the Keep, but why don’t you hang on to this one?”

The dwarf was practically bouncing. “As you say, Commander. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Take the point.”

Nathaniel sidled up next to Daylen as they moved on, heading towards the coastline. “So Woolsey is sure that there will still be salvage from that wreck?”

“Sure enough that she thought it’s worth a look,” Daylen replied.

Nathaniel hesitated. “Look, Commander…Daylen. I owe you an apology.”

Daylen glanced over, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Any specific reason in mind?”

“When I returned from the Free Marches, I was certain my family was destroyed for being on the wrong side of the war. But my father did it to himself. No conspiracies, just one stupid, selfish man. I should have known better.”

Daylen shrugged. “You wouldn’t have been the first person to have a blind spot for their family. But you should have dug deeper.”

“I was an idiot, and like a child, I blamed you and the Wardens. And here you’ve even proven to be a friend, of sorts. Or am I reading that wrong, too?”

Daylen stopped short, staring openmouthed at Nathaniel. “Hey, guys, guess who just admitted to being friends!”

“Congratulations!” Anders called.

“Never mind, I feel like killing you again,” Nathaniel grumbled, but he couldn’t help smiling. “You know, I think I did the right thing asking to join. In a weird way, it worked out.”

“I’m glad to have you here,” Daylen replied. “Come on, we’re probably not the only ones headed for that cove.”

—AOTG—

There was a light drizzle as Daylen stared down the men lined up in front of him, their weapons at his feet. Sure enough, almost a dozen men had been busily scavenging the shipwreck for anything they thought they could sell and had reacted violently to the arrival of the Wardens. After their mages had incinerated the first four to draw weapons and attack, including one blood mage who had barely drawn a blade across his wrist before Velanna set him on fire, the rest had wisely surrendered.

“You picked the wrong wreck to salvage,” Daylen said finally, ignoring the stench of burning flesh on the wind from the smoldering corpses nearby. “Now, there doesn’t seem to have been any survivors, and the trade goods are going into the Amaranthine markets, but I don’t think there’s strictly a rule against scavenging from a wreck, is there?” Nobody answered. “This is the part where whichever one of you is the wise-ass says, ‘no, Commander, not that I know of.’ And then I tell you all you’re free to go, but if any of you want a job, to come to Vigil’s Keep.” The men stared at him, dumbfounded. “Look, you lot wouldn’t be scavenging in this tiny cove on the ass-end of the arling if you had any other means. Help us load up the wagon, and we’ll be on our way. You all can take your weapons back and go on with your lives. If you’re looking to put those weapons to good use, join the garrison at Vigil’s Keep.” He paused. “And if you have families, they can be protected there until the arling is secure. But I don’t want to see or hear about any of you working as bandits, you hear me?” Silence answered him. “ _Do you hear me_?”

“Yes, ser!” One man blurted out.

“Good man!” Daylen said. “Have a nice day, now.”

—AOTG—

Anders pulled the heavy traveling cloak he had liberated somewhere closer around himself. “Be a Warden and freeze your bollocks off,” he groused.

“We’re almost there,” Daylen said soothingly.

“Yes, yes, I know.” He looked over at Daylen. “May I point out that you’re all right?”

Daylen shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“You’re all right.” Daylen snickered. “Really, when the Templars came for me, you could have decided that I wasn’t worth the trouble. But I apparently am worth the trouble. Considering I’m usually a _lot_ of trouble, I should be grateful.”

“You’re not much trouble,” Daylen replied. “You’ve been a very valuable member of the team and a good friend. The opportunity to thumb my nose at the Templars was just a bonus. I’m glad to have you around.”

“And I’m glad to be around. When you recruited me, I thought I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. But being a Warden is almost tolerable. It’s a pleasant stroll through the park – with darkspawn!”

Daylen snorted. “So glad I could make it happen for you.”

“You’re a giver. I’m very grateful. I do appreciate having things that are undeniably mine, things that someone can’t take from me. And to have a place I won’t have to be hungry, cold, or tired, or scared that some Templar was going to take my head off next week. I just have to worry a darkspawn will do that.”

“It’s a rough life, but I have to say it beats the Circle any day.”

“I thought it was worth mentioning. Thank you, Daylen. For everything.”

“Hey, you,” Oghren rumbled. “You there. You.” He belched.

“That’s Commander Hey You, by the way,” Daylen replied. “What is it, Oghren?”

“Oh, you’re a tricky one, but you’re not getting in my head, oh no. You, with your murmuring and your buzzing. I know your plan, but it won’t work! _I’m onto you_.”

Daylen frowned, glancing around. “I think you’re just sensing darkspawn. Anyone else getting it?”

“I think I am, a little,” Velanna said.

Oghren belched again. “Aha! You…trying to distract me with…with rational explanations! Won’t be fooled!” He tipped over in the back of the wagon, passing out.

“Eh, leave him there,” Daylen said with a shrug and pulling the wagon to a halt. “Velanna, Serrani, Jukka, Cupcake, with me. Everyone else, stay here.” The group moved down the road quickly and quietly, Cupcake sniffing the ground and tracking the darkspawn down. The blighted creatures sensed the Wardens approaching, but not quickly enough to avoid a barrage of fireballs and arrows.

“Should there still be this many of the ‘spawn on the surface?” Jukka asked as Daylen dragged the last corpse onto the pile.

“No,” Daylen said darkly. “No there should not.” He nodded to Velanna, and the elf raised her staff, igniting the pile. “This Architect…thing…or whatever the Mother is…” he paused. “The fact that we know so little about them really makes me worry. Anyway, they’re presumably – _hopefully_ – what is keeping the darkspawn on the surface.”

“Yeah, once they’re belowground again, surfacers don’t care,” Jukka grunted.

Daylen shook his head. “Once we’ve got the surface secured and some more Wardens, I fully plan to start hunting the darkspawn back to their nests. Take the fight to the broodmothers, and take some of the strain off the Legion.”

“People have said that before,” Jukka pointed out.

“Yeah, but the Grey Wardens don’t really have anything else to do these days,” Daylen countered. “Ferelden owes the dwarves a lot. If we can repay that debt by killing a few thousand darkspawn, well, my Wardens could use the practice anyway.”

—AOTG—

Dumping the slightly damaged trade goods into Amaranthine’s economy would help speed its recovery, but there were other matters to attend to. As the damp Wardens returned to Vigil’s Keep, Daylen looked approvingly at the walls, spotting Voldrik shouting orders to a work crew, a wide grin on the dwarf’s face. The thick granite made the previous walls look paltry by comparison, and more workers could be seen carrying construction supplies into the basements under the Keep, still reinforcing and renovating the honeycomb of cellars.

“Take some time off, but we may be leaving again today,” Daylen said to his Wardens. “Keenan, come with me.” The two entered the throne room, spotting Garevel and Rowland poring over some maps. “Oh good, just the men I wanted to see.”

“Commander,” Garevel said. Rowland nodded in greeting, smiling warmly.

Keenan brightened as he recognized his fellow Warden. “Ah, Rowland. Good to see you made it through your Joining.”

“Good to see you survived your capture,” Rowland replied. “I’ve been on detached service with a few patrols, trying to clean up the arling. We’ve been killing more darkspawn than bandits these days. Those golems the Commander found in Kal’Hirol have been a blessing.”

“Casualties are down a great deal, thanks to them,” Garevel added. “We have reports of the darkspawn massing, however.”

“Well that’s not good,” Daylen murmured. “Where?”

“Several places, with wildly varying estimates of how many,” Garevel replied sourly. “Anywhere from a hundred to five thousand.” Daylen rolled his eyes. “That’s what I said. We’ve got some scouting patrols out, but we seem to be chasing down a lot of empty leads. If the darkspawn were where these reports say they were, they aren’t anymore by the time our men get there.”

Daylen stroked his beard. “All right. Keenan, I want you and Rowland to work out some additional patrols. You’ve got some experience in leading teams of Wardens, so I want you to take some of the troops and a golem with you and scout where Rowland’s group isn’t. We have a lot of ground to cover and not many troops to cover it with.”

Keenan hesitated. “Er, Commander, I was hoping to go find Kristoff with you. He is a friend to me, and…”

Daylen sighed. “You’re right. All right, Keenan, we’ll leave for the Blackmarsh today, but once we come back, that’s the plan.” There was a peal of thunder audible through the walls of the Keep, and Daylen sighed. “Great.”

—AOTG—

It was a group of nine very soggy Wardens and a dog who arrived at the Blackmarsh and realized very quickly that it lived up to its name. “Place is supposed to be haunted,” Nathaniel was saying. “There was a settlement here, but one day everyone up and vanished without a trace.”

“You take us to the nicest places,” Anders said to Daylen.

“Try the Dead Trenches once, this is a garden spot compared to that,” Daylen replied.

A wolf’s howl echoed across the marsh. “I’m scared,” Anders squeaked. “Hold me.” He paused, frowning. “Daylen, get your hands off my ass.”

“You said to hold you,” Daylen protested, getting a quick squeeze in before letting go.

“My father used to tell me stories about the Blackmarsh when I was young,” Nathaniel said softly. “He said evil magic killed everyone here. This was just before the rebellion – a great mystery at the time.”

“Could have been a plague,” Daylen replied. “I haven’t heard of any magic that could kill an entire village in a day without leaving an awful lot of evidence. Did he tell you anything else about this place?”

“They never found out what happened here,” Nathaniel explained. “Once the monsters appeared, the marsh was abandoned.”

Daylen stopped short, Jukka bumping into his back with a faint grunt of protest. “What monsters?”

“They never explained that part,” Nathaniel said. “Just ‘monsters.’ Very descriptive, no?” Daylen nodded. “I used to dream of coming to the Blackmarsh and setting things right. Little boy dreams.”

“Well, you’re doing it now, aren’t you?” Daylen pointed out.

Nathaniel smiled faintly. “So I am. If someone had told me I’d end up here, I would have laughed at them. But times change. When I was in Kirkwall, I thought I would return to Ferelden to take command of my father’s garrison. Now here I am, a Grey Warden and fighting both darkspawn and demons. Interesting.”

“Stick around, this happens all the time,” Daylen deadpanned. “Two years ago, if someone had told me that I would not only be a Grey Warden, but a Warden-Commander and an Arl, I’d have asked for some of whatever they were drinking. But here we are.”

“And the fun never ends, I suppose?” Nathaniel said. “Good to know.” Another howl echoed across the marsh. “Well, the haunted marsh awaits. Let’s go.”

A few minutes later, Daylen crouched over a freshly dead wolf, shaking his head as Nathaniel retrieved an arrow from the corpse. “There were definitely darkspawn here,” he pronounced. “This wolf has been Tainted. If Kristoff is around here, he would have been hunting the darkspawn.”

“Well he certainly didn’t come for the waters,” Anders quipped, shaking out a soggy boot. “I did find something, though.” He held up an empty bottle of poison and a tattered letter. “Looks like someone got upset over a trail of riddles, and her lover killed himself over it.”

Daylen waved the empty bottle under his nose, flinching as he recognized the poison as one Zevran used. “Sweet Maker, you think he drank all of this? One drop would have been enough.”

“You think that’s bad, you should see the riddle,” Anders said, offering the letter. Daylen summoned his spell wisp, the wisp hovering over his shoulder and providing some light as he peered at the letter.

“Follow my trail of love, my darling, you are my hen, the mistress of my flock,” Daylen read aloud. “You nourish my body, and tend to my…rooster.” He snorted. “Well, I can’t blame her for finding that a little tacky, but it’s certainly nothing to leave a man over.”

“Think we ought to follow the riddle?” Anders suggested. “Might be something interesting at the end.” Daylen nodded, stuffing the note into his pocket.

It was only a few minutes later that they found something worse. “Oh, dear,” Daylen muttered, looking at the tear in the Veil. “That’s not good.”

“What is that?” Sigrun asked, tossing a stone through it.

“Tear in the Veil,” Anders said. “Demons can escape through them.”

“You were talking about evil magic,” Daylen said to Nathaniel. “This, this is evil magic.” He peered into the tear, frowning. “I can see…are those desire demons on the other side?”

Anders tilted his head slightly. “Looks like. Not many other demons have racks that size.”

Daylen grunted. “Come on. We can’t seal these, we’ll just have to avoid them. Can’t believe the Veil is so thin here.”

“It’s thin everywhere,” Anders scoffed. “Of course it’s thin. Who ever heard of a thick veil, anyway?”

Daylen grinned. “I guess that’s why they don’t call it ‘the down comforter between worlds,’ isn’t it?” Anders snorted out a laugh.

Following the trail of riddles led them to a surprisingly powerful enchanted ring and a proposal note that clearly had never been seen. Daylen tossed the ring to Velanna, who nodded approvingly as she felt the enchantments as she slipped it on.

Another suicide had taken place elsewhere in the marsh, where a merchant had taken gold to help three young women escape a ‘baroness,’ only to sell them out to the baroness for additional gold. The man had left a map to his cache, and the group reclaimed the gold with a quick search.

“Orlesian royals,” Nathaniel pronounced after a moment’s examination. “I wouldn’t try to spend these in the Amaranthine market. Might be able to exchange them someplace, though.”

“If they predate the rebellion, that means this ‘baroness’ must have been Orlesian,” Daylen surmised. “The plot thickens.” Cupcake barked from nearby, and Daylen found the hound standing over a dead hurlock. “This your work, boy?” Cupcake snuffled, and Daylen examined the body more closely. “No, this one’s been dead a while.”

“Kristoff’s doing, maybe?” Oghren asked.

“Possible,” Daylen replied. “But that settles it. The darkspawn are definitely here.”

Anders was still looking at the merchant’s written confession. “This makes it sound like the baroness was using these young women to make herself younger.”

“Blood magic?” Daylen asked.

“Probably,” the mage said with a shrug. “But hers, or a mage she had working for her?”

“I think I can answer that one,” Keenan called, wiping dirt from the pages of a record book he had found. “Looks like there was a dragon here – remember that skull you saw by that tear in the Veil? The baroness apparently got rid of it in a single night. There were rumors she was a witch, but the villagers were just happy to be rid of the dragon.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Daylen mumbled.

Deeper in the marsh, the Wardens finally found Kristoff’s camp, another dead hurlock nearby. “No notes, no journals,” Daylen announced after a minute’s search. “He has to be nearby – his tent and all his gear are still here.”

“But this hasn’t been used in days,” Nathaniel said. “The fire is dead, cold, and the ashes are all but washed away.”

“Let’s keep searching,” Daylen ordered. “There’s got to be something around here. I keep getting tickles from darkspawn, but I can’t tell where they are.”

A circle of ritual stones settled the question of the baroness for them, finding a few pages from her journal that recounted her use of blood magic to reinvigorate herself. “Wow, that’s classy,” Anders commented. “They are nothing – peasants! While I am a baroness of Orlais.”

“The country did suffer a great deal under Orlesian rule,” Nathaniel said softly. “But not like this.”

The group wandered around the marsh a bit more, finding their path blocked repeatedly by tears in the Veil. “Anyone else feel like we’re being led around?” Daylen asked. “Seems like there’s only one path open.”

“That’s what worries me,” Nathaniel murmured, keeping an arrow nocked on his bow. “And that feeling of darkspawn nearby is getting stronger.”

“On the right!” Sigrun warned, ducking low and spearing a Childer grub through the middle. The group quickly set about crushing and burning the grubs, managing to kill most of them before they could get close enough to attack. When the last grub died, Cupcake whined nervously, trotting over to an armored corpse.

“Oh, damn,” Daylen whispered, turning the body over. “Keenan?”

“That’s Kristoff, all right,” the Warden said. “I’m sorry, my friend. Maker take you into his arms.” He looked carefully at the body. “He’s been dead a few days, at least.”

“Darkspawn don’t typically leave bodies lying around like that,” Jukka added. “I…” he paused. “This is a trap.”

“I know,” Daylen said grimly, spotting darkspawn encircling them. The group backed together, and were momentarily surprised when the darkspawn did not attack.

“Yes, that is your Grey Warden,” a hurlock rasped, stepping forward.

“Great, another one that talks,” Oghren growled.

“The Mother told me that if he was lured to this place, and slain, that in time you would come,” the darkspawn continued. “And the Mother is right. The Mother is always right.”

“Who is this ‘mother’?” Daylen asked, hoping to glean some useful information.

“The Mother is she that sent me, she that wished you to come. Here, to this place.”

“Well, that tells me precisely nothing,” Daylen mumbled. “Who are you?”

“I…here before you is the First, and I am bringing to you a message. The Mother, she is not permitting you to further _his_ plan, whether this you know or not. So she is sending you a gift.”

—AOTG—

“Fucking darkspawn!” Daylen shouted, sitting bolt upright. “Oh, _crap_. Not again.”

“This sort of thing happen to you often?” Anders groaned. “Why are we in the Fade?” He looked at Sigrun and Jukka. “Why are _they_ in the Fade?”

“No!” The First hollered. “We have come to the Fade as well? It cannot be this!”

“You weren’t ‘first’ in your class, I take it,” Daylen quipped.

“The Mother she has deceived me! I am betrayed! Now I am being trapped in the Fade with you! Ah, I am the fool!”

“Looks like someone was considered expendable,” Daylen jibed.

“I am the First! I am not being ‘expendable!’ Both the Grey Warden and the Mother shall be learning this!” Several Childer grubs began scuttling towards them, and the First snarled at them. “I will be leaving you to the Children. I will be finding my own path back into the world! Back to the Mother!” It dashed off as the group crushed the grubs, making sure to burn the bodies.

“Did that snarly bastard say we’re in the Fade?” Oghren asked. “That’s where humans dream, isn’t it?” Daylen nodded. “Dwarves shouldn’t be here. We don’t dream. We sleep like the Stone!” Sigrun and Jukka were holding hands tightly, both looking around nervously. Seranni and Nathaniel both seemed more bemused than terrified by the turn of events, but Keenan had glanced up at the sky, shrugged, and readied himself to move.

“I need you to be calm and keep your wits about you,” Daylen said.

“Commander, I couldn’t keep my wits about me if they were strapped to my back. And what happens to my body while I’m here? Someone could outrage my modesty! What little’s left of it!”

“I’ve had to deal with this sort of nonsense before,” Daylen replied. At questioning looks from Nathaniel and Anders, Daylen shrugged. “I told you, I see weird shit all the time. A sloth demon tossed my companions and I into the Fade when we were fighting the demons in the Circle tower.” He rolled his neck, drawing his staff. “All right. Velanna, the Dalish have a mage-killer spell that turns a mage’s mana against him. You know it?”

“Of course.”

“We’re going to need it. Anders knows it, I know it, and it’ll kill most demons in a single hit. And for your own sake, if a demon offers you something, _don’t accept it_.”

Shades and demons awaited them as they marched through the Fade version of the Blackmarsh, killing whatever attacked them. A handful of Desire demons standing around the other side of a tear in the Veil died quickly, and Daylen spotted a glimpse of the waking world through the tear before it closed.

“They must have been keeping it open somehow,” Anders mused. “There’s probably more.” The others were dealt with quickly, viciously, and permanently, and Daylen fiddled with what looked to be the other end of the ritual circle stones, feeling something shift in the Fade as he did. Another demon masquerading as a human found itself violently ripped apart by the group after it attempted to lure them into a crypt, and the Wardens emerged from the other side, finding themselves just outside the village’s gates.

“Halt!” A guard barked. “Who enters the Blackmarsh?”

“Grey Wardens,” Daylen said flatly. “Trapped here. You a human, or another demon?”

“Trapped?” The guard echoed. “Then you’re just as we are, locked in this endless nightmare. We’ve been here so long, at _her_ mercy. She feeds on us. Most of us are gone…I’m one of the few left. I almost forget what it was like, before.”

“Maker’s breath,” Keenan murmured. “These people have been trapped here for decades, with this baroness torturing them?”

“There is a spirit that’s come to free us,” the guard said. “Perhaps you could help him? If only that were possible.”

The group sidled around the narrow streets, finding a crowd of people standing outside the mansion’s gates, a translucent figure in heavy plate standing at the gate. “The mansion will not protect you, fiend!” The spirit shouted. “Come out and face your crime!”

“We aren’t afraid of you any longer!” A woman hollered.

“The witch hides!” A man shouted. “Break down the door!”

“Be cautious, my friends,” the spirit warned. “The baroness has power within her lair, and she well knows it. We rush in at our peril.” The spirit turned as it noticed the Wardens approaching. “And who comes now? More minions of the baroness? Or yet more helpless souls she has tormented?”

“Grey Wardens,” Daylen said bluntly. “Brought here against our will.”

“I cannot say what a ‘Grey Warden’ is,” the spirit replied, “But clearly you are a stranger. Perhaps it is a sign. I am Justice. I have watched this place and seethed a t the wrongs visited on these poor folk, and now I seek to aid them.”

“Once we lived in the real world, and the baroness ruled over us,” the woman explained. “She took our children and used their blood to work dark and evil magic.”

“And when we burned down her mansion, she cast one final spell that brought our spirits here. We have been trapped ever since, still under her rule,” the man added. “I can’t even imagine what happened to our families.”

“The village is overgrown and long deserted,” Daylen said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Has it been so long?” The woman marveled. “How many years have we been held here?”

“At least thirty years,” Daylen said softly. “In the mortal world, it’s 9:31 Dragon.” Their faces fell. “If it helps at all, the Orlesians were forced out in 9:2 Dragon.”

“The Dragon Age?” the man asked. “What would make the Divine name the next age so?”

“Dragons returning,” Daylen said.

The two villagers looked baffled. “We had been plagued by a dragon’s attacks for months before the baroness got rid of it. Parts of its body were scattered across the marsh.”

“One blood mage can’t take down a high dragon, no matter how powerful they are,” Daylen murmured. “I wonder if she just banished its essence to the Fade…”

“This spirit knows the Fade,” Nathaniel murmured. “If we help him, he might help us in turn.”

“If the baroness trapped these people here, she might be our best chance of getting out,” Anders pointed out.

Daylen looked over at him in surprise. “You’d side with her?”

Before Anders could reply, Justice continued speaking. “Tell me, stranger, will you help us in this righteous task? Being a Grey Warden appears to make you an able sort, and thus your aid would be most welcome.”

“I need to find a way out of the Fade,” Daylen said grimly. “I would like to help, but we have obligations of our own. A great number of people are in danger. We were trapped here by another.”

“The injustice of your own situation underscores why these people must be avenged,” Justice pressed. “These men and women are dead, yet their spirits remain trapped by the vanity of this sorceress. I do not know how to cross the Veil back into your world. Should you aid us now, however, I promise that I will help you search.”

Daylen sighed. “Very well. I can’t stand by and let this injustice continue either.”

“Then we have the numbers to challenge the baroness directly,” Justice proclaimed.

“Ooh, a direct challenge!” Oghren crowed. “I like the sound of that. Less talk, more killing!”

“They just said she was an evil, powerful witch!” Anders protested. “Do we really want to antagonize her?”

“You’d be surprised how many of those I’ve antagonized,” Daylen replied. “I just hope this one can’t turn into a dragon.” He noticed most of his followers were staring at him in mute horror. “Look, we’ll defeat her, and make her use her magic to help us. If nothing else, she might have notes or information on how to get back.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Anders admitted. “All right, you’ve convinced me.”

“My intention is to storm the gate,” Justice said. “Are you ready?”

Daylen nodded. “Lead on.”

“Good people, we take the battle directly to the witch!” Justice shouted. “For too long have her crimes gone unpunished! Now is the time to reclaim your freedom!” Turning, he kicked the gates open, marching into the mansion’s courtyard.

The Wardens followed closely, weapons drawn. “Ash wraiths,” Daylen warned as he spotted two flanking the baroness. “Be careful.”

“My, my,” the baroness said disdainfully. “All that shouting outside and now you’ve finally decided to barge in? Without even a proper invitation?”

“Were you planning on extending one?” Daylen asked.

“Of course not,” she sniffed.

“Then it’s not my fault you’re a poor host,” Daylen replied.

“Silence, peasant!”

“I’m technically nobility from Kirkwall,” Daylen shot back.

“Foul sorceress!” Justice broke in. “You will release these poor folk and submit yourself to justice!”

“Justice? Is that what you are calling it?” The baroness gestured at the villagers behind them. “What of their punishment, burning my home to the ground and me within it?”

“What would you call the past thirty years for them, if not a punishment?” Daylen countered. “Besides, it sounds like you had it coming.”

“You were stealing our children!” The woman accused. “Using their blood to feed your vanity!”

“As was my due!” The baroness spat. “You lived on my land, I your rightful ruler! Your blood was mine just as your lives are now!”

“Suddenly I understand Loghain’s hatred of Orlesians,” Daylen muttered, clearing his throat. “I don’t suppose you know a way to get back across the Veil?”

“Who are you? Have these pathetic fools managed to recruit yet more sympathizers?”

“We are no longer alone, Baroness!” A villager shouted. “Your reign ends here!”

“As it happens, I am no longer alone either,” the baroness replied smugly. The First stepped out of the mansion behind her, baring his teeth at the Wardens.

“My path back across the Veil lies in victory over you and your new allies,” the First said. “Then the Mother will pay for her treachery!”

“And then what?” Daylen asked.

“I…what?” The First stared at him. “What?”

“And then what?” Daylen repeated, speaking slowly. “Let’s say you beat us, get back across the Veil, and kill the Mother – where is she, anyway?” The First stared at him, and Daylen shrugged. “What do you do then? Join the Architect? He won’t be too forgiving of your working against him, I’ll bet. And the Mother’s other disciples won’t stand for your killing her.”

“I…you will not confuse the First!” The darkspawn snarled.

“Didn’t think this one through, did you?” Daylen asked. “You should choose your pets more carefully, Baroness.”

“Instead I should have chosen you, mortal?” The baroness asked scornfully.

Perhaps realizing that the Baroness considered him expendable, the First turned to her. “We must be ending this! Now! The Grey Warden, it is more dangerous than you know!”

“Oh? As you wish, creature. Slay them and you shall have the reward you requested.”

A handful of genlocks and hurlocks appeared in the courtyard as Justice charged the Baroness, Daylen and Anders immediately killing the ash wraiths as the others set to ripping into the darkspawn. Jukka and Sigrun engaged the First, Jukka turning aside wild swings from the disciple’s wicked greatsword as Sigrun ducked and weaved around the attacks, her strikes pinging off the hurlock’s thick armor. Daylen cracked a hurlock upside the head with Spellfury, bringing the massive crystal on the end to bear and blasting a hole through the First’s kneecap. Jukka turned aside another strike and shattered the disciple’s elbow with a strike from his mace as Sigrun’s daggers sank into the hurlock’s back, under his cuirass.

“No, you fool!” The baroness screeched. “Why haven’t you defeated them?”

“The fact that we outnumber them two-to-one might have had something to do with it,” Anders stage-whispered.

“They are too much!” The First gasped, grunting as Sigrun frowned and jiggled her blades in his back. “It must be sending me back through the Veil! Now, before it is too late!”

“Oh, I will sunder the Veil all right!” The Baroness spat. “I’ll send them all back! But you – your life is going to provide the power!” The disciple protested as the baroness summoned her magic, ripping the life out of him as the world went white.

Daylen groaned, sitting up. “Everyone make it back? Sound off.”

“I’m here,” Anders called.

“Me too,” Sigrun said. “Jukka’s all right.” A retching noise could be heard. “Well, mostly all right.”

“Aye, Daylen, I’m fine.” Oghren took a long pull on a bottle of something that hissed when exposed to air.

“I’m here, Commander,” Keenan said.

“Velanna?” Seranni asked. “Can we please never do that again?”

“I’m with you,” Velanna replied. “That was…not an enjoyable experience.”

“We’re all here, Daylen,” Anders said. “Daylen?” The Warden-Commander was staring wide-eyed at Kristoff’s corpse, which had risen and was staring at the marsh around them despite the arrow shaft sticking of its skull. “Well, shit.”

“What…where am I?” The corpse was saying. “What is happening?” It looked around, seeing the burned remains of the Baroness’s mansion. “No! This is the world of mortals, beyond the Veil! And this…” It touched its face. “This is a mortal body of flesh! I am trapped within!”

“Justice?” Daylen asked faintly. “Is that you in there?” The body turned around, recognizing Daylen and nodding frantically. “Oh, Maker. How did you get here?”

“The witch sundered the Veil in her haste. All of us were drawn through.”

“Oh, this is not good,” Daylen groaned. “This is not good at all.” Daylen felt his gorge rising as he saw Justice turn his head, the arrow's shaft wiggling obscenely as it moved.

"Oh, that's just not right," Sigrun moaned, clamping a hand over her mouth.

“Is there…is there something in my head?” Justice asked, patting at its skull and pulling the arrow out with a nauseating squelch. Sigrun retched in the background as Justice peered at the arrow, before tossing it aside. “The Baroness has returned to this realm as well. Can you not feel it?”

“I’m still shaken up from the trip,” Daylen replied. “The Veil was sundered here repeatedly. We killed the demons holding the tears open from the other side – hopefully that’ll have closed them, but if the Baroness is here…”

“She could rip them back open,” Anders finished. “We could be arse-deep in demons.”

“Like we don’t have enough problems,” Seranni said softly. “Where is the Baroness? She is a mage, but mages can be killed.”

“You misunderstand,” Justice replied. “The Baroness, she is not a mortal as the others once were. She was such, once, but now? That is a demon of Pride, having assumed that role long ago to feed from the mortals she trapped. Here in your world, she will be quite something else.”

“Pride demons we can handle,” Daylen said. “I’ve killed a few before. Still bad news, though.”

“She has power enough to cause great havoc in your world,” Justice said. “The Veil is sundered, and the tears she left in her wake must be closed lest they continue to spill demons out into this world. I can alter your weapons for a time, allowing them to drive back the Fade’s magic, but if we are to deal with the Baroness, we must move swiftly.”

“Well what about him?” Velanna pointed out. “He does not belong in this world.”

“One catastrophe at a time,” Daylen replied. “Justice seems to be handling our world well enough so far – let’s take care of the Baroness first.”

They looted the body of the First and found enchanted items in the places of the tears in the Veil, assembling a suit of enchanted armor that fit Justice well enough, along with an enchanted belt that had manifested at the ritual circle. The spirit discarded the badly damaged armor that Kristoff had died in, and competently hefted the mace and shield the Warden had been carrying.

Revenants were emerging from the tears in the Veil, and the mages traded off paralyzing or petrifying the powerful demons in place while the others hacked them to pieces. As each revenant died, the tear sealed.

They found the Baroness standing outside the ruined mansion, looking baffled at her surroundings. “So this is the world of mortals,” she commented. “How very dull it seems, so immutable and unchanging. Yet, I am here. I have crossed the Veil. The spirits will watch in envy as the mortals of this realm bow down before me!”

Without bothering to reply, all three mages hit the Baroness with simultaneous mage-killer spells, each one following it up with bursts of primal magic in their affinity – Daylen froze the Baroness in place while Anders shocked her and Velanna set her aflame. Oghren stepped up, whistling idly as the Baroness reeled, clearly trying to unleash its full power despite the grievous injuries it had just sustained, and took careful aim before lopping her head off with a single stroke.

To say that the sun emerged through the clouds immediately would have been an exaggeration, particularly because it was night at the time of the Baroness’s final death. But a wind did seem to pick up coming off the ocean, the clouds dispersing somewhat and letting the moon and stars shine through.

“For what it is worth, thank you,” Justice said softly as Daylen ignited the corpse. “I have fulfilled my vow. May the victims of that woman’s madness rest in peace, wherever they have gone to now.”

Daylen paused. “You don’t know where they went?”

“No. The spirits believe that there is a place beyond the Fade, but…we have no more answers to such things than you mortals.”

“Well, there goes a dozen questions I wanted to ask,” Daylen muttered.

“It seems I cannot return to the Fade,” Justice continued. “I am trapped here, in the body of this…Grey Warden?” Daylen nodded. “There are memories within this poor man’s mind. They are difficult to see, but…he was a Grey Warden? He was…slain by the darkspawn, the one called the First?”

Daylen nodded again. “The darkspawn are who the Grey Wardens fight.”

“And that was your pursuit when you were tricked into the Fade? Yes, I understand now. It seems I am at a loss. I know nothing of this world, and have only a few memories of this Grey Warden to draw from. I do not wish to die.”

"It's well known that spirits don't do well in or world," Daylen explained. "Abstract ideas such as Justice don't really translate well here."

"We should send him back to the Fade," Velanna agreed.

"Exactly. Anyone got any ideas how to do that?" The silence was only broken by the background noise of the swamp. "I was hoping someone else would know. Short of blowing him up, I got nothing." The Warden-Commander sighed. "Well, Justice, it looks like you'll be stuck here for a while. You're welcome to come with us."

“It was a darkspawn who murdered this mortal most ignobly, and the ones that commanded it yet live. To avenge his death…yes, that would be a purpose.”

“Welcome to the team, Justice,” Daylen said. “Until we can figure out a way to send you home, I guess you’re a Warden now.”

—AOTG—

_Oghren  
"I'm not saying I should be your first pick for a dance partner at the inaugural ball, but in the Deep Roads, I'm your man."_

_Oghren of House Kondrat was once a promising member of the Warrior Caste. His house was not especially high-ranked, but many of its members, Oghren included, had won notable victories in the Provings and were considered to be rising in prestige. When a Smith Caste family with plenty of money but no political connections offered their daughter in marriage, his family accepted the match. And then everything changed._

_His wife, Branka, was named a Paragon for her achievements. All of House Kondrat joined her newly-made noble House Branka... and vanished with her into the Deep Roads._

_As time passed and it became more and more clear that Oghren had been abandoned, he became the butt of jokes throughout Orzammar. He took to drink, which didn't especially help. Drunk and humiliated, he challenged another warrior to a Proving over an insult and killed him. The match was meant to be fought to first-blood. As a punishment, he was stripped of his house and barred from bearing arms: The only fate worse for a warrior than exile._

_When the Grey Wardens called for aid from the dwarves, Orzammar's throne was contested and only a Paragon could settle the dispute. Oghren, hoping to find his wife, offered to guide the party through the Deep Roads._

_The Grey Warden mounted a search for Branka and found her--and the Anvil of the Void for which she led her house to their deaths. But Branka's obsession with the Anvil of the Void had driven her mad. The Wardens helped choose a new king, and Oghren, having lost everything, left with the Wardens. Afterwards, having apparently nothing better to do, Oghren offered his services to the Grey Warden and left Orzammar to help end the Blight._

_When the Blight was ended, Oghren settled down with his old flame Felsi and had a child. But domestic bliss did not last, and so Oghren travelled to Vigil's Keep in the hopes of becoming a Warden himself._

_Oghren's passion for strong drink hasn't waned. He survived the Joining. His extensive experience drinking bitter swill likely helped._

_Felsi arrived at Vigil's Keep demanding to see Oghren. Their conversation ended poorly. Oghren confided in the Warden-Commander. He admitted to feeling guilt over abandoning his child and resolved to be a better father._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1Game of Thrones. [ return to text ]


	9. Blackmarsh Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finish up in the Blackmarsh and move into the endgame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Velanna  
"I know a human crime when I see it. I have experienced more than enough of them."_

_Velanna was the First to Keeper Ilshae before she left her clan in protest, believing they needed to fight back against the humans attempting to force them away from their farms. When her sister Seranni vanished not long after, Velanna wreaked havoc in the Wending Wood, murdering humans who crossed her path to terrorize the nearby villages into releasing her sister._

_However, the Warden-Commander discovered that darkspawn were to blame for Velanna's sister's disappearance. Hoping to rescue her sister, Velanna offered to help the Warden-Commander destroy the darkspawn. Velanna was upset to discover that her sister, Seranni, was dominated by the Architect and Tainted. She pledged herself to the Grey Wardens in order to hunt the Architect and survived the Joining._

_An encounter with Velanna's former clanmate Marren revealed that the clan had cast Velanna out and denounced her anti-human crusade._

_Velanna is fond of the color green as well as items that remind her of elven culture and nature._

—AOTG—

“So are we done here?” Keenan asked, trying not to look at Justice as the spirit settled the helm to the armor set over his head, obscuring his decaying flesh.

“Not quite,” Daylen replied as Oghren and Anders debated the odds of any place with ‘-marsh’ in its name being pleasant. “That dragon that the Baroness supposedly killed – I want to make sure it’s dead. We’ve seen some dragon bones around the marsh. Everyone split up, find what you can and bring it back here. Cupcake, go with Jukka and Sigrun. Oghren, Anders, with me. Keenan, Nathaniel, take Justice. Seranni, Velanna, I know you two can handle yourselves.”

“Obviously,” Seranni said with a faint smile. “Can the rest of you stay out of trouble without us?”

“No promises,” Sigrun replied with a grin. “Come on, dog, we’ve got bones to find!” Cupcake barked happily as he bounded forward, leading the dwarves away.

It took the four groups less than half an hour to find the five pieces of dragonbone and return to the massive skull. “The dragon we fought in the Frostbacks was bigger than this,” Daylen commented as he and Anders tried to slot the bones back into place. “Granted both Alistair and I nearly died fighting it.”

“How many times have you nearly died?” Anders asked.

“About half a dozen times,” Daylen replied, turning a bone over and slotting it into place. “The novelty sort of wears off after a while. That dragon set me on fire – I had to modify my shield after that to block heat, not just the physical flame.”

Anders winced. “That must have hurt. Your skin would have caught fire from the heat anyway.”

“It did,” Daylen replied, shivering slightly as he remembered the sudden burst of agony, followed by icy cold as the heat seared his skin. “Try that one over here.”

“Oh my goodness you two are _impossible_ ,” Sigrun said, elbowing past Anders. “This goes _here_.” She slotted the pieces together in a matter of moments. The barrier blocking their path up a nearby set of stairs evaporated, and a dragon’s roar could be heard as something flew overhead.

Daylen stared at the sky for a moment, before turning to Nathaniel. “You saw that too, right?”

“I did,” Nathaniel replied, also gazing at the sky with a look of alarm on his face. “Was that a dragon?”

“I could see through it,” Jukka said. “Is this normal for you?”

“No, this is a new one,” Daylen replied.

The dragon was waiting for them at the top of the hill, and roared a challenge, lightning bolts arcing from its mouth to the ground. “Keep your distance, keep moving, and go for the eyes.” Almost immediately, two of Nathaniel’s arrows soared through the dragon’s skull, hitting the eyes perfectly. The dragon merely spat a lightning bolt at the archer, who calmly rolled out of the way, loosing another clutch of arrows at the creature.

Daylen hooked around the other side of the dragon as roots exploded through the earth, wrapping around the dragon’s legs. Velanna shouted something to Daylen, but the Warden-Commander couldn’t hear it over the dragon’s roaring. Seranni, Sigrun, and Keenan drew their bows and began firing arrow after arrow through the dragon’s body, the creature clearly hurt by the impacts but not displaying any injuries.

A fireball exploded against the dragon’s snout, and Anders spun his staff, flinging another fireball. On the other side of the dragon, Daylen mustered his magic, slamming Spellfury into the ground and cutting loose with a titanic burst of frost. The spectral dragon suddenly found its back half frozen solid, its tail against the ground, and Daylen dashed forward, slinging his staff and drawing the Warden-issue longsword he had managed to not lose since his arrival in Amaranthine. Elemental frost spread up the length of the blade as he wove magic, and he readied another spell as Anders caught on to his plan and petrified the dragon’s neck. Daylen nearly slipped as he mounted the dragon and sprinted to the back of the creature’s head, stabbing down with both hands at the top of the dragon’s spine.

He knew there was no chance of killing the dragon with a single strike, but he had never intended to. The warriors had been hacking away at the dragon’s extremities as best they could, and as Daylen’s blade sank into the dragon’s neck, the beast broke free of the magic holding it in place, jerking its neck out from underneath the Warden-Commander.

Daylen hit the ground in a heap, his breath whooshing out of his lungs. The dragon’s paw landed on his chest a moment later, and Daylen felt his ribs crack as the beast tried to crush the life out of him. His armor blunted the impact, but Daylen could feel the ends of his broken ribs pushing into his lungs as the dragon crushed him into the marshy soil. His healing magic was sustaining him, but only barely.

Then Oghren’s battleaxe bit deep into the dragon’s foreleg, and the pressure on Daylen’s chest abruptly ceased as the dragon reared back, Keenan dragging Daylen out of the way as Oghren bellowed back at the dragon. “Anders!” Keenan shouted. Roots sprang forth again, Velanna guiding them and holding the dragon in place again.

The healer was at Daylen’s side immediately, both mages casting as quickly as they could despite the blood Daylen could feel crawling up his throat.

“Come on, you big bitch!” Oghren shouted. “Come get some more!” Jukka’s mace shattered in a mighty blow against the dragon’s hind leg, and the warrior began hacking and stabbing with the broken end, spitting curses as Sigrun smashed an incendiary flask against the dragon’s face.

Daylen could feel his lungs inflate properly and sucked in a grateful breath of air, before flipping over and coughing up blood. Anders kept pouring healing magic into the man’s body, and Daylen tried to push himself to his feet. “Stay down,” Anders said, holding him down by the shoulders. “Most of your injuries are numbed, not healed.”

Daylen rolled over, grabbing his staff and aiming carefully. “Hope this works,” he coughed, blood seeping into his beard. Anders’ spell fizzled as he ran out of mana, and the blond mage downed a lyrium potion, setting back to work.

The spell was an inverted form of the crushing prison of force he had used before – a lucky find when Jowan had mixed up the spell during a practice session. In most cases, the spell was difficult to use and typically more effort to cast than it was worth.

However, if there was a three-foot spike of metal embedded in a creature’s head, the effects could be…interesting. In this case, the longsword Daylen had stabbed into the dragon’s neck violently shattered, sending metal shrapnel in every direction and critically injuring the dragon. Unfortunately, the shrapnel didn’t discriminate. Seranni screeched as a shard ripped across her thigh, and Keenan went down hard with his forearm pinned to his side by a hefty piece. Oghren ducked his head, a fragment ricocheting off his helmet as the dragon collapsed next to him, before twirling his battleaxe and slamming it overhand into the dragon’s head until it stopped moving.

Daylen stood shakily, Anders falling flat next to him, utterly exhausted. Downing a lyrium potion, Daylen limped forward, hitting Seranni with a quick healing spell as Velanna leaned heavily on her staff, drained by the effort of binding the dragon in place. The elf looked up and nodded gratefully as she kept pressure on the closing injury, and Daylen fell to his knees next to Keenan.

“Might want to work on that spell,” Keenan suggested, his face pale and sweaty. “It seems a touch messy.”

“I know,” Daylen replied, spitting out pink phlegm and slowly working the fragment out of Keenan’s side. He healed the chest injury first, and the skirmisher relaxed as Daylen began extracting the shard of metal from Keenan’s arm.

Anders staggered up next to him, having checked on the others as Daylen was finishing. “How do you do that?” Anders asked.

Daylen looked up as the wound closed. “Do what?”

“Make it look effortless. I can heal that well, sure. The fact that you’re still breathing shows that. But it’s not something I can do without a lot of effort and focus. It looks like you barely even thought about it.”

“I was in the Fade a while back,” Daylen said. “A spirit of Compassion gave me medical knowledge. So technically, I’m cheating.”

Anders grunted. “So what do we do with the corpse?” As if on cue, the dragon dissolved into motes of light, vanishing. “Fair enough.”

Sigrun was fishing around in some rubble nearby, cheering as she pulled a length of dragonbone from the mess. “I found something!”

Daylen stumbled over, still shaky. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“All yours,” she said. “You need a new sword anyway. You think Wade could make it into one for you?”

Daylen turned the bone over in his hands. “These bones have been touched by the Fade. I can almost feel the power in them. Wade’s going to have a fit when he sees this.” He turned to the others. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

—AOTG—

“So what do you think of the Wardens you’ve met?” Nathaniel asked as they were in the wagon again, on the way back to Vigil’s Keep.

Daylen shrugged. “The ones I’ve met are decent enough. Bit bonkers, but that seems to be common with most Wardens. I don't much like the First Warden, but not for the reasons you might think.”

Nathaniel nodded. "Understandable. He wasn't exactly much help during the Blight, was he?"

Daylen sighed. "Well, that's the thing. The Orlesian Wardens did help, or at least try to. There were two hundred Wardens, and literally divisions of cavalry waiting at the border. Loghain barred their entry to the country. Oh, sure, you might think he wanted to make an example of Ferelden, since it was two Wardens and whatever resources we could scrape together against an entire Blight, but that wasn't how things happened. I admit, had we failed, the Wardens would have had their meal ticket written for the next thousand years. But the real reason I don't like him? He's not doing his ruddy job, and he's not giving the Fereldan Wardens what they need."

"Elaborate, if you would."

"The Anders Wardens are run by the local Warden-Commander. The First Warden spends way too much time mucking about in local politics to give the Wardens the attention they need. That's not good for anybody. Plus, he didn't send us so much as a sovereign. I've been paying for the wages and the supplies for the Wardens out of my own pocket. Luckily, the Crown covered the repairs for Soldier's Peak and the billeting here at Vigil's Keep, but the First Warden's big contribution to our chapter of the order? An accountant. Don't get me wrong, Mistress Woolsey has been a blessing. But I can't use her to pay you lot."

“Reasonable. I don’t want for much, but I suppose the others would like to have some money of their own.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Daylen said, fishing around in his satchel. “When we were cleaning out those smugglers in Amaranthine, I spotted these. I wanted to practice picking locks, but I can’t get the hang of it.” He held out a set of locksmith’s tools. “I figure you’ll have more use for them than me.”

—AOTG—

“One thing bothers me,” Anders said as they trundled up the Pilgrim’s Path.

“Just one thing?”

Anders rolled his eyes at Daylen. “Well, one thing _right now_. If the Baroness was a mage, why wasn’t she carted off to the Circle like the rest of us?”

“Easy. She was a noble.”

“Didn’t you say you were too, though?”

Daylen shrugged. “I was exaggerating a bit. The Amell family in Kirkwall _was_ nobility, but I have no idea if they still are. My father turned me in to the Templars when my magic manifested, so I doubt very much that I’m still part of the family. Even nobles in Kirkwall aren’t above the Chantry, though. That’s an Orlesian thing. For all their going on about the Chantry, Orlesian nobles do not feel it necessary to be bound by the laws governing lesser folk. It’s something of an open secret that certain nobles were mages, just taught outside the Circle and very careful not to use magic in public.”

“If only it were that easy,” Anders mumbled.

“It doesn’t always pay off,” Daylen replied. “Arlessa Isolde thought she could get away with that in Ferelden, and half of Redcliffe paid the price for her idiocy.” Velanna suddenly squawked from the back of the wagon, and the two mages turned to look at her.

“Excuse me,” the elf said sheepishly. “I was reading some of the notes we took from the Architect’s lab.”

Daylen raised an eyebrow. “Anything useful?”

“A great deal of this is beyond me, but a few passages stand out. One refers to the darkspawn taking my sister. ‘The Seeker collected two elves, male and female. The rest died defending their camp. Unfortunate, but a small price to pay. The male has since dashed his head on the wall. Odd. Don't all living beings strive for survival?’” She grimaced. “Clearly the Architect placed little value on my sister’s life.”

“Such a charming fellow,” Anders remarked. “He must be so fun at parties.”

“I read on, from the Architect’s notes,” Velanna said. “‘What happens if the Old Gods perish? Does the song die with them?’” Daylen’s jaw dropped. “‘The blood is the key. The blood is always the key.’ ‘The female elf is accommodating, allowing me to take her blood for my work. Perhaps she thinks I'll release her if she cooperates.’ ‘My disciples report that another elf is rampaging through the woods, killing humans. Revenge for what we did to her kind, only she hasn't seen through the Seeker's ruse. We'll keep this from Seranni. If she is upset, she may stop cooperating.’ ‘Perhaps I should have killed it while it slept.’”

“What is this thing planning?” Daylen wondered. “What is the Architect trying to accomplish? Is it trying to end the Blights? Does it want to kill the Old Gods before they can awaken and become Archdemons? But that doesn’t make any sense – the darkspawn are drawn to the song of the Old Gods, and they corrupt them into Archdemons themselves. He’s obsessed with Wardens, but not so much that he would hesitate to kill a bunch of us when his followers attacked the Keep. He says he's not my enemy, then steals our weapons, our armor, my blood, and sets his darkspawn and dragons on us. Not to mention what he let his pets do to Keenan.” He shook his head. “None of this makes any sense.”

“Still a lot of pieces missing from this puzzle,” Anders said. “You’ll drive yourself mad trying to see the full picture at this point.”

“Seranni doesn’t remember much from her time with the Architect,” Velanna added. “I know you spoke with her about it, and I did as well. He never told her what he was trying to do.”

“Of course not,” Daylen said acidly. “She might have stopped cooperating. Clearly her willing cooperation wasn’t so important that he would hesitate to use blood magic on her.” He shook his head. “We need to get back to the Keep.”

“Bright side is he doesn’t seem to command a significant force,” Anders offered. “Maybe they've all gone over to The Mother, like The Lost and The First.”

Oghren spoke up for the first time. "Or maybe they were wiped out at Kal'Hirol."

“That’s possible,” Daylen agreed. “We saw them fighting, and it’s possible that they took heavy casualties there. Would certainly explain why there were so few darkspawn down in that mine, and none of the ones that talked.” He paused. “Although if nothing else, I’m just glad we got Seranni  away from him. She probably would have been twisted into a broodmother eventually.”

“A what?” Velanna asked.

Daylen winced. “All right. So the darkspawn don’t usually take prisoners, unless you’re female. The ones that they do, they drag deep underground. They’re…” He swallowed hard. “They’re corrupted, in a variety of unpleasant ways, until they’re twisted into darkspawn themselves. Genlocks come from dwarves, hurlocks from humans, ogres from qunari, and sharlocks — we call them 'shrieks'— come from elves. We encountered a few broodmothers at Kal’Hirol. If there are more in the arling, if that’s what this ‘Mother’ is, we’ve got a lot of problems.” He took a long pull on his flask. “And if you or another woman is ever cornered by darkspawn…don’t let them take you alive.”

—AOTG—

“Check your feet,” Keenan shouted at a group of recruits, jabbing at them with a blunted practice sword. “If you’re not a moving target, you’re an easy one!”

“Is there a reason you’re making us participate in this?” Anders asked Daylen, panting lightly.

“Velanna, hold your sword like it’s a sword, not a staff,” Keenan warned. “A single-edged blade won’t hurt if you grab it by the other edge, but don’t make a habit of it.”

“You ran out of mana back in the Blackmarsh,” Daylen replied. “You know as well as I do that a mage without mana doesn’t have much going for him.” Keenan poked at Daylen with his sword, and Daylen easily turned it aside with his own. “If you’re that drained, there’ll be plenty of weapons around that don’t belong to anyone anymore. Might as well know how to use them.”

“Isn’t that why our staves are usually big and heavy at one end?” Anders asked.

“Yes, but you should also know how to use a sword or an axe as well,” Keenan replied, hooking his sword around Anders’ knee and sweeping the mage’s legs out from under him. Anders landed in an undignified heap, and Keenan shook his head sadly before moving on down the line.

Daylen extricated himself from the training a bit later, having proven to the trained fighters that months of sparring with an Antivan Crow, a Templar-trained Grey Warden, and a Qunari in between fighting darkspawn had given him adequate skill with a blade. He found Oghren in one of the cellars, the dwarf having supervised the placement of several stills and brewing vats.

“Daylen!” The dwarf called. “Come on, you’re just in time for a drink!”

Daylen sipped at a cup of the alcohol and grimaced. “I think this one needs some more work.”

“It takes some time to break in a still,” Oghren replied. “Need to season it and all that.”

“You seem to be right at home here,” Daylen commented.

“Been tying one on,” Oghren said happily. “Sampling the product and all that.”

Daylen looked at Oghren. "I mean, can you even  _get_  drunk anymore? It's kind of like, uh, drinking a tonic for you, right?"

Oghren grinned widely. “It’s harder, yeah, but that makes it more fun!”

“I know you enjoy a challenge,” Daylen said. “I got you something.” He held out a toy horse he had retrieved from the Blackmarsh.

“What’s this?” Oghren asked skeptically. “A baby’s plaything?”

“You said you wanted a pony,” Daylen pointed out.

“You paid attention to what I said when I was drunk?” Oghren chuckled. “That’s special. Oh, hey, want to buy a bridge?” He laughed some more. “Too bad it’s not a real pony, huh? Just as well – the real ones poop!” He laughed harder, turning the toy over in his hands. “You make me laugh, Daylen, thanks. I’ll give this to the nugget.”

Seranni brushed past Daylen as he headed towards the smithy, and the mage felt a sudden lack of weight at his side. He patted himself down, before turning. “Seranni?”

The elf gave him an innocent smile. “Yes?”

“Did you just pick my pocket?”

Seranni grinned, holding up his coin purse. “Maybe a little.”

“Learning from Sigrun?” Daylen asked.

“You know when I said to practice, I didn’t mean on him!” Sigrun cried from nearby. “Commander, I’m sorry.”

Daylen waved her off. “If we didn’t steal or loot whenever we could, we never would have made it through the Blight. It’s good that you’re sharing your skills with her.”

“I’m teaching her woodcraft in exchange,” Seranni said proudly. “She’s a natural!”

Daylen nodded approvingly. “Good. I want my Wardens capable of surviving in any environment. Anyway, Seranni, I want you to come with me. Wade has been working on something special. Sigrun, could you send Jukka over?”

The scout nodded. “Will do.”

“Finding the surface strange?” Daylen asked gently.

“I just...” Sigrun shrugged. “It’s strange how nobody seems to hate me on sight.”

“Dwarves are a rare sight in these parts, but nobody topside cares about a casteless brand except other dwarves. It’s part of how I got Oghren to stick around up here – nobody knew who he was, so he could start over. And...” Daylen paused. “I was going to say look at him now, but maybe he’s not the best example...” he glanced around. “How about Nathaniel! Look at him. Starting over as a Warden and making a sodding good show of himself.” Sigrun snickered. “I should go. Lots to do.”

Jukka joined them at the smithy a few minutes later, and Wade set a kite shield on the workbench. “It’s done. What a marvelous wood.” Daylen hefted the shield easily, nodding approvingly and trading his Warden-issue shield in. “I also managed to make a bow from the same ancient heartwood you supplied.”

“Where did you get heartwood?” Seranni asked. “Shemlen don’t encounter sylvans.”

“I’ve encountered quite a few in my time,” Daylen replied. “We found an ancient sylvan in the Wending Wood, and Wade practiced on some lesser heartwood samples we found from the sylvans your sister set on us.” Seranni winced, and her eyes narrowed as Wade set a longbow on the bench. “This is for you.”

Seranni strung the bow with practiced ease, feeling the draw weight. “It’s suited well for my height. Little less resistance than I’m used to.” She nocked an arrow, making sure her line of fire was clear as she aimed clear across the courtyard and landed an arrow dead center in the practice dummy. “Oh, that’ll do.”

“Coming from a Dalish, that’s high praise,” Wade said proudly. “Warden Jukka, your armor is ready as well.”

“Armor?” Jukka squinted at Daylen. “I’m getting new armor?”

Daylen flicked a finger against the battered armor the dwarf was wearing. “Legion issue is good. Volcanic aurum is better.”

“I’m not wearing the Paragon’s armor,” Jukka said immediately. “I know you still have it here.”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Daylen replied. “Wade has made you a set of armor from the chunk of that inferno golem we brought back.” The thick breastplate clanked as it met the workbench, and Jukka slowly stripped out of his armor, pulling the thick plate on over his tunic and belting on the gauntlets and greaves. “How’s it fit?”

“Buckles need a little work, I’ve gained some weight,” Jukka admitted.

“I’m not happy with it at all,” Wade said. “If you must wear it, please don’t tell anyone I made it.”

Daylen snickered. “This ought to make it even harder for someone to kill you. And there’s more.” He nodded to Wade, who set a sword and a heavy shield emblazoned with the Legion heraldry on the workbench. “I saw how your mace shattered on that dragon, and we recovered some damaged weapons from Kal’Hirol.”

“I remember,” Jukka said. “They were on that dwarf Dailan’s body. You fixed them?”

“They only needed minor repairs,” Wade replied. “They should serve you well.” Jukka slung the shield across his back, buckling on a belt for the sword.

“Now, Master Wade, I have something else for you to work on,” Daylen said as the other two Wardens left, clearly pleased with their new weapons. “When we were in the Blackmarsh, we found some ancient dragonbone. It’s been touched by the Fade, I think. What can you do with it?”

The smith’s eyes widened as he looked over the dragonbone. “I could make a blade, a blade unparalleled. Oh my.” He scribbled out a quick list. “Quick, gather these things, there’s history to make here!”

“Let’s see,” Daylen said, perusing the list. “A diamond, I think we have a few of those lying around, a high-end warmth balm, we can get that from Yuriah upstairs, a dragon egg?” He thought for a moment. “We may actually have recovered one from the silverite mine. And a grandmaster flame rune?” He fished around in his satchel. “Got one right here.” He quickly sent off a messenger to assemble the items. “Anything else you need?”

“This is so momentous,” Wade chirped. “Where to begin? What type of blade would you like?”

“I prefer to use a longsword, myself.”

“The blade, its balance. Your thoughts?”

“Flexible and nimble,” Daylen said immediately.

“Certainly, Commander. And for the forging itself? I have Formari-enchanted materials aplenty, and the bone is _very_ receptive.”

Daylen paused. “You know, you’re the expert. Do what you think best, Master Wade.”

The messenger returned, looking baffled as he gingerly set the dragon egg on the workbench. “Excellent!” Wade said. “Now, let me commence!”

Daylen left the man to his work, finding Anders sitting on a bench nursing several bruises as the training broke up for the day. “I haven’t hurt like this in a while,” the blond said.

“Beats hurting a lot worse later on,” Daylen pointed out. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you happen to have a brother?”

“Not that I know of,” Anders said. “I never my father, so it’s possible. My mother told me he was a mage in King Maric’s army, though.”

Daylen grunted. “Sounds about right. There was a mage, Wilhelm, served in Maric’s army. The bloke settled in a little village called Honnleath, had a son named Matthias. Wilhelm wound up bludgeoned to death by a golem, but Matthias looks a bit like you, that’s why I wondered.”

“Is he a mage?” Anders asked.

“And his daughter as well,” Daylen added. “Although the daughter had a bad experience with a demon masquerading as a cat. For some reason, Wilhelm had trapped a demon in the basement, and Amalia managed to find it when the darkspawn attacked the village.”

Anders’ eyes widened. “Do the Templars know?”

“Well, she’s not possessed, so there’s that,” Daylen said. “Also, the wards that we helped Matthias activate will stop anything short of a giant, and the Templars don’t know where they are, as far as I know.” He paused. “Although I remember some Templar at the Circle being from Honnleath. What was his name. Colin? Crandall? Cullen! Cullen.”

“Oh, him,” Anders sighed. “Yeah, I remember Cullen. Used to blush whenever a girl spoke to him.”

“He didn’t take the uprising well,” Daylen said. “He tried to talk me into killing Irving and all the other mages just to be sure they hadn’t considered using blood magic or making a deal with a demon. Then he tried to get Greagoir to do it.”

“He always was a little…strange,” Anders mused. “He was the sort who pretends to be your friend right up until the moment when he cuts off your head, and then he’d tell you how bad that made _him_ feel. Of course, you'd feel worse, but you're just a mage and don't feel things like real people.”

“I just hope they’ve kept him away from the apprentices,” Daylen murmured. “He was pretty twitchy, last I saw him.” He paused, staring across the courtyard. “Didn’t Kristoff have a wife?”

“Aura, or Aurora, something like that, yes,” Anders replied absently. “Kristoff had a locket with a miniature painting of her in it. Why?”

“Because I think she’s here,” Daylen said, hopping off the bench. “Come on, Justice is right there and he’s not wearing a helmet, this could get ugly.”

Anders and Daylen skidded to a halt behind Justice just as Aura turned around, spotting Justice. “Kristoff!” Her voice was light, tinged with an Orlesian accent. “Oh, thank the Maker!”

“I fear you are mistaken, mortal,” Justice said. Daylen winced.

“Kristoff?” Aura stared at him. “Why are you…what has happened?”

“You were Kristoff’s wife?” Daylen asked delicately.

“I _am_ his wife!”

“Your husband is gone, and I inhabit this body now,” Justice said, ignoring Anders nudging him. “His death will be avenged, I assure you.”

“Oh, great,” Daylen mumbled.

“Avenged?” Aura screeched. “You’ve desecrated his body! How dare you!”

“It was not intentional,” Justice said. “There was-”

“Get away from me!” Aura stormed off, and Justice turned to Daylen.

“That could have gone better,” Daylen commented.

“This body has memories of that woman,” Justice said. “Aura is her name. I did not know she would come.”

“I didn’t know about her either, Justice,” Daylen replied. “Or rather, I didn’t know she would come looking for him.”

“I must rectify this somehow,” Justice declared. “Intentionally or not, I have done this woman a great disservice.”

“Where would we even look for her?” Daylen asked as they entered the Keep. “Does Kristoff have any memories of that?”

“Her house is in Amaranthine,” Justice replied after a moment’s thought. “It will prey on me if we do not seek her out. There must be something that can done to assuage her pain!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Daylen promised as they emerged into the throne room. “But I suggest you wear your helmet next time.” He tilted his head slightly. “How much grasp do you have over those memories?”

“Less than you might think,” Justice admitted. “However, I can sense past contacts. His weapons, for example.”

“Well, I did recover some of Kristoff’s belongings from the inn he was staying at,” Daylen said. “They’re over there.”

Justice examined them for a moment. “His essence lingers upon these objects like dust. I can even feel them whispering his name into the ether. In the Fade, nothing outlives the spirit that created it. Here, everything does. This world has fingerprints on top of fingerprints, witness to beings long dead.”

“Can you tell anything from these ‘fingerprints’?” Daylen asked.

“How does one describe a sensation? I have no words for it. The man who owned these things was a Grey Warden like yourself, yes?” Daylen nodded. “We intend to avenge him?”

“The darkspawn who killed him is dead, but the one who commanded his death still lives,” Daylen replied. “You want vengeance?”

“Not vengeance,” Justice replied. “Justice. These darkspawn are a cancer within the heart of this world.”

Daylen grunted, before a thought occurred to him. “Hang on, you’re not alive.”

Justice stared at him. “That is true, yes.”

Daylen shook his head. “Sorry, hang on, I’m going someplace with this.” He pulled a box out of his storage chest, holding it out. “We found a ring of unrefined lyrium. Most living creatures can’t wear such a thing, which makes me wonder why it was made in the first place, but…”

Justice’s eyes widened as he took the box, shaking the ring into his palm. “What is that sound? Such beautiful singing. The lyrium makes that noise?”

Daylen shrugged. “I can’t hear it. Must be a Fade thing.”

“Am I…allowed to keep this? It is to be mine?”

“That’s the idea of a gift,” Daylen said gently.

“When mortals dream of lyrium in the Fade, it is not like this. The song saddens me, but it is breathtaking. Of all the things I have seen in this world, this is the most precious.” He slipped the ring onto his withered finger. “I shall keep it at my side as a reminder that even in misfortune, good can be found.”

“We’re trying to find a way to send you home,” Daylen replied.

“I appreciate that,” Justice said slowly. “This world is nothing like I thought it would be. The demons lust to cross the Veil, but the rest of us scoff. We pity mortals, we do not envy them.”

“Perhaps you should help us, instead,” Daylen replied. “I have met a spirit or two in my time, and their help was invaluable.”

“Most spirits consider mortals beyond their reach, and beyond help. They do not understand. We are wrong about this world. There is beauty here, and the mortals…they are worth saving.” He looked Daylen in the eyes. “You helped me in the Fade, and have proven yourself since. It is not right to judge all mortals the same.”

“You saying we’re friends, now?”

“A ‘friend,’” Justice replied, trying the word out. “That is an interesting concept. I do not know how to respond to that.”

—AOTG—

Nathaniel and Velanna were annoying Justice with questions about the fate of his body when Daylen spotted Master Wade waving wildly.

"Here it is," Wade said proudly, setting a case on the counter in front of Herren. "This…this is my crowning glory. I may have to retire after this. I don't know if I can match this accomplishment."

"Oh, please," Daylen scoffed. "I'm sure you'll be reaching new heights in no time at all."

Wade smiled warmly. "Thank you, Warden-Commander. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to make this." He opened the case, revealing a scabbard of dragonhide edged with silverite, with the Warden oath stenciled on the side. "Behold, Vigilance!" He took a step back, a look of utter pride on his face.

Daylen closed a hand around the sword's grip, marveling at how light the blade was and how easily it fit into his hand. The guard and hilt of the sword enclosed his hand perfectly, and he felt the inherent magic in the dragonbone resonating with his own. "Maker's breath, Wade," Daylen whispered, lifting the sheathed weapon out of the case. Slowly drawing the blade, Daylen's eyes widened as he saw the blade seem to resonate with power.

"As you asked, it is flexible and nimble, yet strong enough to damage through even the heaviest armor I could find to test it on," Wade explained. "You will not find a finer blade than this, Warden-Commander. It will amplify your own strengths and diminish your weaknesses. It possesses the strength to cut through silverite and the speed to outfight demons.”

"Wade," Daylen said quietly, moving through some simple stances with the blade, "you are truly a master." Sheathing the blade, Daylen buckled the scabbard on next to the heartwood shield Wade had made him. "This is amazing. Thank you.”

“It’s my finest work. Use it well.”

Daylen rejoined the others, adjusting the new weight on his hip. “We spirits know no more of death than you do,” Justice was saying to Nathaniel. “What lies beyond is obscured, even to us.”

“The Dalish believe different things from the humans, and from the Children of the Stone,” Velanna replied. “A shame that the spirits are no more enlightened about such things than we are.”

“The Dalish,” Justice repeated. “The body I inhabit was familiar with that name. His memories say the Dalish were cast out, unwelcome in almost every land. Why is that?”

“The short story is that humans are often terrible,” Daylen said quickly, before Velanna could start ranting. “There’s a long, confusing, and rather bloody history of injustice between humans and elves.”

“How odd that mortals find so many differences to hate when you have so very much in common,” Justice remarked.

“People will always look for something different,” Nathaniel said. “No matter how small.”

“To one such as I, it is difficult to tell you apart. Are these similarities not worth rejoicing in?”

“I wish things were that easy,” Daylen said softly. “Your beliefs are…refreshing, Justice. Many people focus far too much on separating people, rather than bringing them together.”

“Yet you stand with them all,” Justice replied. “Humans, elves, dwarves.”

“I’ve even worked with Qunari,” Daylen said. “In the dark times, mortals do often pull together to accomplish great things. At those times, we’re not so different from the spirits.”

“This is all so strange to me,” Justice mused. “But then, I do not even understand demons. My entire existence is spent seeking out wrongs to right.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Daylen pointed out. “And in this world, there’s no shortage of wrongs and injustices. Elves, mages, elvish mages…nations hate each other, oppress each other, attack each other. But there are a lot of people just trying to make things a little better.”

“I think I must see more of this world before I can pass any judgments on it,” Justice replied. “Let us go.”

—AOTG—

“An interesting place,” Justice commented, gazing upon Amaranthine for the first time. “Kristoff lived here?”

“I believe so,” Daylen replied. “I never met him, you see. I know he was from Orlais, but it would seem his wife purchased a house here when he was seconded to my Wardens.”

“It’s a Dalish!” a city elf nearby cried upon spotting Velanna. “Nella, come see!”

“Ooh, she’s very stern, isn’t she?” Nella commented. Velanna was gritting her teeth, clearly irritated at being seen as a curiosity. “What’s she doing here, do you think?”

“I’m right here, you slack-jawed oafs!” Velanna barked. “At least have the courtesy to speak when I pass by!”

“Oh…we’re sorry, great lady,” the male elf stammered. “We didn’t mean to offend.”

“Velanna,” Seranni said softly.

“You two should have chosen your words more carefully,” Daylen interjected, hoping to defuse the situation before Velanna lit someone on fire.

“Yes, we are very, very sorry,” Nella added.

“Look at how they cower,” Velanna said disdainfully. “They’re like frightened animals. The sight of them sickens me.”

“They cowered because you _yelled at them_ ,” Daylen replied. “And because you’re carrying a mage’s staff.”

“What would you have me do? Encourage their cringing ways?” Velanna asked. “Who will stand up for them, or respect them, if they allow themselves to be terrified by passersby?”

“You happen to be a particularly scary passerby,” Daylen pointed out. “And you think that being cruel to them more will fix it?”

“It makes no difference,” Velanna insisted, as the two city elves watched in confusion. “Human, Dalish, dwarf – no one should be able to tell them their place.” She turned to the elves, thrusting an amulet at them. “You two. A Dalish amulet, carved from the heart of a tree as old as this world. Remember who you are.” She marched off, and everyone present stared after her for a moment.

“She’s always like that, unfortunately,” Seranni said after a moment.

“So I’m seeing,” Daylen commented, glancing at the city elves. “Have a nice day.”

The house Justice identified as Aura’s was clearly inhabited, but empty. The group found Aura in the Chantry, praying quietly.

“You want to speak with her, now’s your chance,” Daylen said quietly.

Justice approached the woman without hesitation. “Aura, please, do not be alarmed. I do not wish to frighten you.”

The woman turned, flinching as she saw the thick enameled armor Justice was wearing. “You. You are the…in my husband’s body.”

“I am a spirit of Justice. I meant your husband no harm. I would ease your distress, had I the power.”

“I…knew, when he left, that this could happen,” Aura whispered. “He told me. His father died a Grey Warden, too.”

“Tell me, is there anything I can do for you? Tell me, and I will do it,” Justice pressed.

“Avenge him, spirit,” Aura whispered. “I will wait for his ashes a little longer, if it means that whoever did this to him will pay.” Justice nodded firmly. “Please, remove your helmet.”

Justice hesitated. “I…do not think that would be wise.”

“Please,” Aura said softly. “I just wish to see my husband’s face again. To say goodbye.” Justice slowly reached up and removed the helmet obscuring his features, and Aura’s face softened as she stroked a hand over Kristoff’s cheek. She closed her eyes tightly, clearly holding back tears, before she silently left the Chantry.

“And she is gone. Did I…do the right thing?” Justice asked.

“I don’t think there is a right thing, here,” Daylen admitted. “You did the best you could.”

“That is wise,” Justice replied. “She loved this man a great deal, and he loved her. I…envy what they had.” Daylen’s eyes narrowed at the spirit’s choice of words. “I must think on this more. But another time. Thank you for bringing me here.”

—AOTG—

The Wardens were back at Vigil’s Keep by the time Justice approached Daylen again. “I have been thinking of Aura, the mortal woman who was wife to Kristoff,” the spirit said. “I continue to envy their love. But envy is what a demon feels, a desire for something it cannot have.”

Daylen sighed. “You aren’t taking it from them, so there’s a difference,” he replied cautiously. “But you aren’t mortal, so you may wish to exercise caution.”

“I…think I understand,” Justice said slowly. “You co-exist with both great darkness and great beauty. It must be confusing. Yet now I find myself wishing to be more. It is…enlightening. Thank you for bringing me to this world.”

Daylen shrugged. “Hey, it was an accident, but thank you for remaining at my side.”

“You have proven yourself a friend, Grey Warden. An example of all that is worthy in the mortal world. I am proud of what we will accomplish together.”

“Well, while we mortals get some rest, why not peruse the library?” Daylen suggested. “You may as well familiarize yourself a bit more with our world, if you’re going to be here. Anders says he has a few ideas on how to send you back to the Fade, but we’d rather not kill you in the process.”

—AOTG—

Daylen arose to a hammering on his bedroom door, rubbing at his eyes and raking his fingers through his hair as he strode to the door. Garevel and Nathaniel were waiting on the other side. “What’s going on?”

“There are full darkspawn armies in the field, Commander – just like the Blight, maybe worse,” Garevel replied. “Before our soldiers were called back to the Vigil, they brought what civilians they could find to safety. I fear the darkspawn may strike the Vigil, or even the city of Amaranthine herself.”

“Varel has assembled the lords and ladies of the arling,” Nathaniel added. “They await your word.”

Daylen sighed. “Get the other Wardens and start armoring up, Nathaniel. I’ll be in the throne room as soon as I can.”

A few minutes later, Daylen was wearing his Grey Warden robes over his breeches and tunic, his weapons and armor still in the armory. “Commander, many of the lords have gathered,” Varel said in greeting. “The darkspawn have fielded armies – and the nobles want to know how you will protect them.”

Daylen eyed the group of worried nobles, stroking his beard. “All right. Garevel, assemble the troops. Call in our patrols, evacuate everyone you can from the surrounding countryside. We’re going to war.”

“I will send messengers at once,” Garevel said.

“What’s the situation here?” Daylen asked Varel.

“The walls aren’t finished to Voldrik’s satisfaction, but they’re leagues beyond what we had before,” Varel replied. “Master Wade has equipped every soldier we can field. Dworkin has made some more of those explosives. We've been receiving a steady stream of refugees all morning, and more are coming.”

"Glad we renovated the cellars, then," Daylen muttered. "Any estimates on the size of this army?"

Varel winced. "Estimates range from two thousand to ten thousand."

"Ten _thousand_?" Daylen asked. "All right, I'm calling that one a fib. You couldn't hide ten thousand darkspawn in every mine, cave, and pothole around this arling."

"The more reliable sightings put their numbers somewhere between five and seven thousand."

 “We’ve waited enough,” Lord Eddelbrek called. “Those who are late will just have to be filled in.”

“Lord Eddelbrek, this is the Commander of the Grey’s council, not yours,” Varel said coolly.

“I am fearful for the villages on the plains,” Eddelbrek said. “There’s a darkspawn army – _army_ – in the field. And with the soldiers returning to the Vigil…”

“You think we’re leaving your subjects to die?” Daylen asked. “The enemy is out of hiding. We’re going to them.”

“This is no–” Eddelbrek cut off as an elven messenger came sprinting into the room.

“A darkspawn army is within sight of Amaranthine,” the messenger blurted out.

“Some of the Vigil’s soldiers are still there,” Garevel said. “She won’t fall easy.”

“Our forces cannot move quickly enough,” Varel warned. “But a small band might make it in time.”

“But that’s…suicide,” Eddelbrek protested.

“My Wardens and I will rally the city’s defenders,” Daylen declared, scratching his beard. "Something's not right. These darkspawn…" His eyes lit up. "Shit."

"What is it?" Nathaniel asked.

"Seven thousand darkspawn marching on a single city doesn't make any sense," Daylen replied. "Seven thousand darkspawn leaving their nests to besiege the two major settlements in the arling, however…"

"You think they're going to come here?" Varel asked, his eyes widening.

"I think we better hope they do," Daylen replied. "We've got highly trained soldiers here outfitted with the best equipment we could make, buy, or steal for them. Amaranthine doesn't have that going for them, and I doubt very strongly that they could hold out against anything more than a few hundred darkspawn."

"Even behind the walls?" Garevel asked.

"There's a smuggler's tunnel that runs under the walls," Daylen replied. "If they haven't sealed that off yet, the walls won't mean a thing." The Warden-Commander grimaced. "We're going to have to go get them."

Varel frowned. "Commander, if the Keep is going to be besieged, you should stay here. We will need you in command."

"And the arling needs Amaranthine intact, or as intact as possible," Daylen snapped. "I'm going to take some of my Wardens. You'll have to hold the Keep."

Garevel shook his head. "This is suicide. You cannot stop an army with a handful of Grey Wardens!"

Daylen spun on his heel, grabbing Garevel by the collar. " _Then we will die trying!_ " He shoved him back. "This is what Grey Wardens do. We kill darkspawn before they can hurt people. I don't care if it's one, a hundred, or every sodding darkspawn in Thedas marching on Amaranthine!" He whistled, catching the attention of the room. "Wardens!" Daylen barked. "There's a large army of darkspawn approaching Amaranthine. I would bet that there's another heading this way. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm going to go _fuck them up_!" Scattered cheers came from the Wardens and Garevel's troops. “Sigrun, Velanna, Justice, you’re with me. Bombs, potions, armor and weapons. We travel light. The rest of you, hold Vigil’s Keep. Nathaniel, you’ve got command here. Congratulations, you’ve just been promoted to Warden-Constable. Oghren, you’re now a Senior Warden.”

“Daylen, a word?” Nathaniel asked. Daylen nodded, and the two Wardens stepped away from the crowd. “Is leaving me in command wise? Why would these people follow another Howe?”

“Because you’re the best for the job, and because a darkspawn horde on the doorstep does wonders for getting people focused,” Daylen replied. “Nate, you’re the only Warden here with any sort of leadership experience. You can do this.” He clapped the man on the shoulder. “You’ve got the easy part. Just hold the walls and don’t let Dworkin blow the place up.” The archer winced at the mention of the pyromaniac dwarf, and Daylen grinned. “Remember, we have a lot of experts here at the Keep. Use them.” Nathaniel nodded, and Daylen shook hands with him. "Good luck."

"Certainty of death," Sigrun said, strapping on her daggers. "Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?"[1]

“Daylen,” Oghren said firmly. “You are _not_ leaving me behind.”

“You can’t ride a horse,” Daylen replied. “And I need Wardens here to hold the Keep. Long as you’re standing, I can trust that no darkspawn will set so much as one hobnailed toe across the threshold.”

A messenger sprinted into the room, gasping for air. “Commander! There’s…” he panted, and Daylen rolled his eyes, hitting him with a rejuvenation spell. The man breathed easier, nodding his thanks. “There’s a large war party approaching the castle. They appear to be Wardens, sir!”

“Wardens?” Daylen asked, looking to Nathaniel. “We’d better check that out.”

It took only a few moments to make it outside. Daylen easily scaled the ladder to the rampart, ignoring the stairs. “Spyglass!” He ordered, holding the telescope pushed into his hand a moment later to his eye. Focusing on the leader, Daylen spotted the Warden heraldry on the man’s armor.

Then he looked at the man’s face, and began laughing hysterically. “Open the gates!” he ordered, handing the sentry back the spyglass and sliding down the ladder to the ground floor. “Open the ruddy gates!”

Three rows of eight Wardens strode into the Keep’s marshalling yard, their armor a mix of dragonbone gleaming a dull, deep red in the morning sun and silverite glinting brightly in the light. Mikhael Dryden’s work showed in their equipment. Daylen was still chuckling as the crowd parted to let him greet the commander, a warrior in dragonbone plate. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to see you.”

“You did send for us,” Loghain Mac Tir said.

Daylen scratched an eyebrow. “I did, at that. Come with me, there’s not much time.” He gave a warm smile to Jowan, the blood mage wearing a set of robes clearly layered with dragonskin and the beginnings of a solid beard on his face.

—AOTG—

“Quite the fortress,” Loghain remarked as they entered the throne room. “Not a patch on the Peak, but acceptable.” There were some noises of shock as Loghain was recognized, but both men ignored them.

“It was actually _worse_ off than the Peak when we arrived,” Daylen said. “A lot of coin, some dwarven engineering, and a few lucky finds brought us up to what you see. But there’s bigger problems. There’s talking darkspawn in Amaranthine. A darkspawn emissary of great power and intelligence, known as the Architect.”

“A talking darkspawn?” Loghain echoed. “I…wait, I think I’ve heard of those before.”

“You have?” Daylen said sharply. “When?”

“Over twenty years ago, and only once in passing,” Loghain replied. “If I had known it was significant at the time…”

“No matter,” Daylen waved him off. “It’s only part of the issue. They're fighting amongst themselves."

"And that's bad news?" Loghain asked.

"Good that they're killing each other, bad that there's someone – more than one someone – capable of organizing them and directing them to do so. There’s another faction of darkspawn here, led by someone known as The Mother. We’ve assumed that this meant a broodmother, but I’m not ruling out another emissary or a particularly verbose hurlock alpha. Worse, there’s a new kind of darkspawn, known as the Children. Ugly scuttling things, even for Blighted creatures. Regardless, there’s an army of darkspawn marching on Amaranthine right now. We were about to leave to address _that_ problem when you arrived.”

“Are you sending me to Amaranthine now?”

“No,” Daylen replied. “You and your forces haven’t fought these new darkspawn before. I’d bet that there’s another force headed our way. The darkspawn were sent to attack the Keep before, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did again. I need you to remain here, hold the Keep. You can do that better than I can.”

“And you are off to…where?”

“My team and I are going hunting,” Daylen said darkly. “The darkspawn marching on Amaranthine need to go, obviously. Then, the Architect and I need to have a word.”

“And you expect to do this with a eleven Wardens?” Loghain asked. Justice removed his helmet to adjust the viewing slit, and Loghain flinched. “Ten Wardens and a corpse?”

“A Spirit of Justice,” Daylen said. “He was trapped here by one of those talking darkspawn, one of their emissaries. We’re working on sending him home. Unfortunately, that happens to be the dead body of a Warden he’s riding around in.”

“So ten Wardens and a stranded Spirit of Justice?”

“I’ve done more with less,” Daylen replied quietly. “You know that. Keep these people alive.” He turned to Jowan. “Jowan, whatever you’ve learned from Avernus or anyone else, break it out. You can do this. Before the darkspawn get here, I want you to use this.” He held out a key. “There’s a chest in my room. It’s got all the notes and documents we salvaged from the Architect’s lab. If we don’t come back, it’ll be on you two to take it out.”

Jowan nodded firmly. “I’ll have the information ready for when you come back. We’ll hold the Keep for you, Daylen.”

Daylen shook hands with his oldest friend, before looking to Loghain. “Hold the Keep. If we’re not back in a few days, secure Amaranthine.” He knelt in front of Cupcake. “Stay here, boy. Keep them out of trouble, all right?” The dog whimpered, but licked his face.

The trip to Amaranthine wasn’t dull – they found themselves passing horses, wagons, carts, and travelers on foot, all running the other way.

"Darkspawn!" one fellow wailed at them, wild-eyed. "The darkspawn have taken the city!"

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Daylen growled. “Come on!” The Wardens pushed themselves harder, Velanna and Seranni taking the lead.

The trip from Vigil's Keep to the city of Amaranthine took the better part of a half a day at a normal pace. Between rejuvenation magic, haste spells, and Warden stamina, Daylen and his Wardens made it in two hours. They passed the last ridge before the ground sloped down to the sea. In the distance, dark clouds of smoke hung over the city.

The Wardens paused just long enough to regroup, tighten their armor, and rejuvenate themselves, before charging the attacking darkspawn from behind. Oghren, Jukka, Keenan, and Rowland were leading the charge, Daylen and the skirmishers right behind them bellowing war cries as they fell upon the darkspawn.

The group hacked their way towards the gate, finding a handful of guards and soldiers fighting desperately outside the gates. The South Gate was standing half-open, and screams and shouts came to them faintly, proving that someone inside was still putting up a fight.

Constable Aidan was frantically parrying blows from a hurlock alpha when Daylen rammed Vigilance through the darkspawn’s back, casually parrying an axe strike from another hurlock with his shield and kicking the darkspawn in the knee, shattering the joint. The hurlock went down hard as Daylen ripped the blade free, before beheading the second hurlock and kicking the corpse over. “Bit of trouble, Constable?”

Aidan flinched as Velanna ran by, screeching elvish profanities and flinging fireballs. “Warden-Commander, I am glad you arrived when you did, but I fear this is little than can be done now.”

“What are you talking about?” Daylen asked incredulously. “The darkspawn just got here!”

“I failed in my duty,” Aidan said. “A couple of nights ago, a swarm of…of gruesome _creatures_ emerged from beneath the city. They spread pestilence and destroyed everything they touched. Then, at dawn, the other darkspawn attacked.” Daylen grimaced, realizing how they had gotten in. “Warden-Commander, it’s too late. Amaranthine is lost. We'll have to burn it to the ground! It's the only thing that will stop the darks—" He grunted and hit the dirt as Keenan slugged him.

“My _wife_ is in that city!” The Warden shouted.

“Keenan!” Daylen barked. “Stand down. Aidan, we are _not_ burning Amaranthine down, not while one person yet lives! Get it together or get out of my way.”

“Constable!” One of the guards shouted. “There is a darkspawn approaching, alone!”

“Archers!” Aidan called. “Take him down!”

“No!” Daylen shouted, recognizing the colors the darkspawn was wearing. “Hold!”

“Peace!” The hurlock rasped. “Do not be killing! Architect has a message, for Grey Warden!”

“Hold fire, Constable,” Daylen ordered. “Speak!”

“The Mother’s army, it marches to Vigil’s Keep. She attacks now! The Architect, he sends me to warn you! You must save the Keep, then finish the Mother in her lair!”

“Where is the Mother’s lair?” Daylen asked immediately. “What is she, a broodmother?”

“Yes, yes she is. Her lair, it is called Drake’s Fall,” the hurlock said. “West of here.”

“Why were you sent to warn us?” Daylen asked.

“The Architect wishes to have the Grey Wardens’ trust. He does not wish to see the Mother succeed.”

“I don’t trust the Architect,” Daylen said flatly. “And there are more Wardens at the Keep. We expected the Mother to do this. We will save both the Keep and Amaranthine. I have faith in the fortress we’ve built, and I won’t abandon the people still in the city.”

“If you stay, the Mother will get what she wants!” the hurlock protested.

Daylen incinerated the hurlock with a bolt of lightning before turning to his troops. “Time to go to work, Wardens. Aidan, get your guards and fall in behind us. Are the other gates sealed?” The Constable nodded. “Good.” The group pushed through the gates, and the Wardens set to work hacking apart the nearby darkspawn as the guards closed and barred the gate behind them.

There were makeshift fortifications blocking off streets and alleys, and darkspawn were crawling over parts of the city as the disorganized guard force did their best to fight back.

"This is going to be _fun_ ," Daylen said, and charged into the darkspawn in a torrent of lightning and fury. The Wardens carved their way through the darkspawn, organizing a coordinated resistance in their wake. In the narrow streets of Amaranthine, Oghren’s battleaxe and Velanna’s nature magic were deadly. Sigrun’s daggers cleaved through darkspawn flesh as Daylen pushed ahead with Oghren and Justice behind him, carving through packs of Childer grubs and hatchlings with steel and magic with equal ferocity. By the time the other Wardens caught up with them, the trio had cut around the length of the city, downing lyrium or stamina potions in between igniting the grubs and hacking limbs off of hurlocks and genlocks.

“Fight to the Chantry!” Daylen shouted above the din. Keenan called orders to Jukka, Sigrun, Seranni, and Velanna, the five of them working their way towards the heavy building as Daylen led the others down the street towards the South Gate again. Oghren headbutted a genlock flat on its back before slamming an overhand blow from his axe into the darkspawn’s chest, and the Wardens caught their breath before backtracking towards the inn.

“We need to seal their ingress point, at least for a time,” Daylen declared.

“What’re you thinking?” Oghren asked.

“Pub?” Daylen replied.

“We need to regroup at the Chantry,” Nathaniel warned as they approached the door of the inn, which was hanging off its hinges.

“I know,” Daylen rasped. He poked his head inside, yanking it back as a fireball flew by. “Nathaniel?”

The archer nocked an arrow and swung around the corner, firing and pulling back. “Got him,” the rogue said grimly.

Justice and Nathaniel led the way in, the archer trading his bow for a pair of wickedly curved silverite daggers Wade had forged for him. Daylen and Rowland followed closely, with Anders and Oghren bringing up the rear as the Wardens ripped into the darkspawn in the pub. When they reached the back room, Daylen kicked a hurlock that was clambering up the ladder in the face before slamming the trapdoor shut, casting a thick layer of ice across the trapdoor to seal it shut.

“That’ll buy us a couple hours at least,” Daylen rasped. “Come on.” He paused long enough to grab a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar and stuff it into his satchel before leading the way to the Chantry.

Daylen hammered on the door. “Open up! It’s the Warden-Commander!”

A voice answered from the other side of the door. “Is it safe?”

“As safe as it can be,” Daylen called.

“It’ll be a minute, the door’s barricaded.”

There was a great deal of shuffling and racket on the other side of the door, and the Wardens did their best to wait patiently. Sigrun was looking at the large building in front of them. "Is a Chantry like the Shaperate?"

Anders looked to Daylen for help, and the Warden-Commander shrugged. “Sort of?” Anders replied. “They keep books there, sure, but at the Chantry they are a lot more interested in telling people what to think and how to behave than the Shaper of Memories.”

“Both revise their own history, but surfacers don’t hate mages the way dwarves hate dusters,” Daylen added. “They hate the casteless, but the casteless can always leave Orzammar.” The doors opened, and a pack of Templars were waiting inside, swords drawn. “Glad to see the Templars were so helpful in the defense of the city,” Daylen said acidly.

The Wardens regrouped inside, the commander of the guard appearing in the door with darkspawn blood staining his armor. The man made his apologies for his late arrival, reporting that the citadel in the center of the city had held out, despite heavy losses to the garrison. The civilians were cheering and offering thanks to the Maker and blessings to the Wardens. Nathaniel embraced his sister warmly, Delilah’s face streaked with tears as she clung tightly to her brother.

“Commander,” Keenan said softly.

“Go find her,” Daylen replied. The man moved out without another word, searching the interior of the Chantry as Daylen broke the wax seal on the bottle of whiskey he had salvaged and took a long drink, clearing his throat.

“Ser, there’s news,” the guard commander reported. “We’ve received word of another wave of darkspawn approaching the city. They will be here within a day.”

Daylen nodded, wiping his mouth. “Good. We can work with that.”

The man stared at him. “Commander, you…you have a dozen men. What can a dozen men do against an army?”

Daylen gave him a tired grin. “Do you know what I did with four? Get your wounded here to the Chantry, gather the dead you can. Don’t touch any darkspawn corpses or anything they’ve bled on. If you can find some food and drink among the goods confiscated from the smugglers, bring it here so these people can eat.”

Daylen found Keenan standing in front of his estranged wife, the man stonefaced. “Merren is dead,” Nida was saying. “I…Keenan, I love you. I never should have…”

“No,” Keenan said softly. “You shouldn’t have. Now you see what I do for a living. I’m not perfect, but you should have waited. I was worth it.” He turned to Daylen. “I think we should leave, Commander.” Daylen nodded grimly.[2]

The Wardens spent the next several hours healing the wounded and gathering their strength.

“I think that’s about all of them,” Nathaniel said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You have any ideas about closing off that tunnel?”

“A few,” Daylen replied. “I just hope things are going well back at the Keep.”

—AOTG—

_Justice  
"I have no name, only a virtue to which I aspire."_

_A spirit of justice fought on behalf of the villagers that the baroness trapped in the Fade. When the Warden-Commander escaped through a tear in the Veil, Justice was dragged along and trapped in the body of the Grey Warden Kristoff. The baroness's defeat left Justice trapped in the mortal world. Believing Kristoff's mission to be worthy, he agreed to travel with the Warden-Commander._

_Kristoff's wife, Aura, arrived at Vigil's Keep. Upon realizing what had become of her husband, she accused Justice of desecrating Kristoff's body. This distressed Justice, who insisted on finding a way to ease Aura's pain. Justice visited Aura again later, promising to avenge her husband's death. This pact gave both a measure of peace._

_Justice likes tokens that remind him of the Fade as well as items that provide insight into Kristoff's life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1Lord of the Rings. [ return to text ]
> 
> 2   
>  [ return to text ]


	10. Twin Sieges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens defend Amaranthine, while the Siege of Vigil's Keep unfolds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The Children  
The Children appear to be twisted mutations of darkspawn. They have set even hurlocks, genlocks, and ogres to fleeing._

_The monsters appear first as childer grubs, gruesome larval creatures that wriggle on the ground. This is the only vulnerable stage of their development. To squish them is to do the world a favour._

_When grubs devour the flesh of slain darkspawn, a dramatic change occurs. To a sound of tearing flesh, legs emerge. The childer can now run down its prey with startling speed._

_Upon gorging itself again, the childer transforms further, developing spindly limbs tipped with spikes that skewer prey._

_These foul creatures are the progeny of the Mother, a mysterious broodmother about whom little is known._

—AOTG—

Loghain scowled at the courtyard below him. “Are the preparations and repairs complete?”

“Yes,” Varel said stiffly, clearly not at ease with him. “Voldrik reports that the walls are not finished, but that they will withstand most attacks. Master Wade has been working night and day, and the men are properly equipped.”

“Allow me to be the judge of their equipment,” Loghain replied.

Varel bristled. “Excuse me, _Warden Loghain_ , but you were left in command of the Wardens here, not the Keep itself.”

Loghain rounded on the man. “Do you really think now is the time to be bickering over who has command?”

“No, which is why I find it strange that you do,” Varel snapped. “You do not know Amaranthine, or this Keep, or this garrison. So I suggest you respect the counsel of people who are familiar with them.”

Loghain glared at him a moment longer, before nodding. “You are correct, seneschal. My apologies. What men are here in reserve?”

“The men that Lord Eddelbrek brought for the war council are still assembled,” Varel replied. “The garrison here has been augmented both by many new recruits and several golems that the Warden-Commander recovered from the fortress of Kal’Hirol. Our sapper, Dworkin, has prepared caches of standard grenades and high-powered explosives for use. Lieutenant Maverlies has stationed archers on the ramparts, and our herbalists are standing by with excellent salves and potions.”

Loghain nodded. “Good. We’ll need them, this is going to be bloody. What of those prisoners that were down in the dungeon? Are they secure?”

Varel nodded. “Ser Temmerly and Ser Rylock. Both have been moved elsewhere in the Keep under guard, and the cellars and basements and the dungeon have been prepared to house refugees.”

“Excellent.” The fallen teyrn scratched at his temple. “We’re as ready as we can be, then.”

“There is one other matter,” Varel said. “The refugees _are_ rather distressed about the news of the incoming darkspawn. The Warden-Commander departed before addressing them. I had planned to reassure them myself, but if you would prefer to do it…”

Loghain nodded. “Take me to them, Seneschal. I’ll address them myself.”

There was a mass of refugees filling both courtyards, and after several guards shouted for quiet, Loghain stepped up to address them, ignoring the darkening clouds overhead. “I know you are frightened,” he said. “You will be defended here. There are some deep tunnels under the Keep, large enough to hold all of you. Those of you capable of using a weapon will be joining us in fighting the encroaching darkspawn army.”

“Where’s the Warden-Commander?” someone in the crowd shouted.

“He and his group of Wardens are on the way to the city of Amaranthine,” Loghain replied. “They’re going to defend the city and then cut out the heart of the darkspawn infection in this arling.”

“Why should we follow you?” another civilian shouted.

“You’re not going to follow me, just obey me,” Loghain snapped. “Your people will be defended, your lands reclaimed, your lives saved. Or you can stay out there and take your chances with the darkspawn. Anyone feel like leaving?” Nobody answered. “Then get yourselves down into the tunnels. The people of this arling will be defended.” There was a warning horn from a scout patrol, and Loghain signaled the guards, the troops herding the civilians into the cellars as quickly as they could. The outer gate opened, and a handful of bloodied men sprinted inside, the door shutting behind them. “Report!”

“Loghain?” One of the scouts panted, before shaking himself and standing up straight. “We are the last patrol. The darkspawn are close behind us. Half an hour, no more. Ser…there are thousands of them.”

“They will break upon the Vigil’s walls,” Loghain declared, looking to Varel. “The men should take their positions. Barricade this gate. Jowan!” The mage appeared almost immediately, clearly having been lurking nearby. “Have your battlemages take position on the ramparts.”

“At once,” Jowan replied, whistling to catch their attention and pointing towards the ramparts. A quartet of mages scaled the ladders and stairs easily, crouching behind the ramparts. As one, they began casting, laying down glyphs and wards along the approaches to the Keep.

“Lawrence,” Loghain said, the Warden standing next to him silently. “Are your skirmishers satisfied?” The man nodded. “Excellent. Your surprises ought to discourage the darkspawn a bit.” He took a deep breath. “And now we wait.”

Half an hour was a long time to wait when there was an army bearing down upon you, but all too soon, a sentry bellowed a warning, and Loghain raced to the ramparts.

The approaching army appeared less as a single force and more as an oncoming tide, hurlocks, genlocks, and the odd ogre interspersed with dozens of the foul grubs Daylen had described to him. As the walls came into view, the army began to charge, and Loghain turned to Lawrence. “At your discretion.”

The Warden nodded, raising an arm to catch the attention of his skirmishers. Pumping a fist in the air, Lawrence pointed out at the incoming darkspawn, and several of his archers nocked enchanted arrows, letting fly as soon as they could. Not one arrow struck a darkspawn, but they weren’t intended to. The arrows sank into the soil outside the Keep’s walls, igniting pitch and grease that had been applied in advance and sending walls of flame up among the darkspawn. The army charged forward heedless of the danger, dying in scores as they smothered the flames with their own dead.

Unfortunately for them, Lawrence’s men had been thorough. Once past the fire barriers, the darkspawn found themselves falling into concealed pits, forcing them to funnel through the only safe path of the road itself as the Keep’s archers opened fire. A few opportunistic ogres ripped up boulders or trees to fling at the Vigil’s walls, only for Jowan’s mages to retaliate with bolts of lightning and fireballs.

Wary of the incoming attacks, the darkspawn spread out past the pits, only to begin setting off dozens of traps that Lawrence’s men had made or borrowed from the Keep’s skirmishers. Grease and fire traps, claw traps, caltrops, shrapnel traps, and all manner of foul liquids set to spray across the unwary reaped a horrible toll on the darkspawn.

“Your men have made a good accounting of themselves,” Loghain commented as the last of the traps went off. He estimated they had killed a few hundred darkspawn already, and the mages and archers were still firing into the chokepoint of the road, even as darkspawn attempted to fill in the pits with boulders or their own dead. “Now the mages take over.”

The darkspawn ran into the glyphs and wards next, droves of the blighted creatures being torn apart by the various layers of hostile magics. Loghain watched in horrified interest as an ogre appeared to violently liquefy under one spell and explode, splattering a squad of hurlocks nearby that screeched and writhed as the remains appeared to burn them. Several darkspawn simply dropped where they stood with no apparent injuries, killed either by magic or immediately trampled by other darkspawn.

Loghain ducked as an arrow zipped by his ear, and Jowan pointed at the offending genlock archer, the darkspawn bursting into flames. The mage whistled to his comrades, and a trio of firestorms exploded into being, choking black smoke filling the air. An electrical storm burst into reality over the chokepoint in the road, and Jowan gave a feral grin as the flood of darkspawn through the gap slowed.

By the time the darkspawn reached the walls, Loghain estimated that they had killed almost a thousand of the creatures, but the mages were clearly flagging. “My men need time to recover,” Jowan called.

“They’ve done their job!” Loghain shouted. “Go!” He nodded to Lawrence as the mages scampered down off the battlements. “Surprise me, Lawrence, what’s next?”

The silent man gave him a creepy smile, before signaling his men. Pitch flooded from the walls, soaking the darkspawn battering at the gate as the archers focused their fire on the ogres. The nearest skirmisher lobbed an incendiary grenade over the walls, the flask breaking open and turning the outside of the gate into a searing inferno.

A fireball shook the gate, and Loghain whistled, indicating the emissary that had cast it as he heard thunder in the distance. “Kill that one!”

—AOTG—

“Here they come!” The sentry bellowed as the storm coming in over the ocean arrived, rain beginning to patter against the cobblestones of Amaranthine’s streets.

Daylen waved his thanks, before nodding to his Wardens. “Time to go to work.” The Wardens tracked through the wrecked inn, Daylen kneeling carefully and thinking back to the new magic he had learned. “Let’s see…” He wove magic, driving a spike of force through the ice and shattering it.

Almost immediately, the trapdoor flew open, and Anders and Velanna thrust their staves into the hole, hosing down the darkspawn on the other side with torrents of lightning. “Sigrun! Jukka! Go!” The dwarf drew her daggers and dropped into the hole after her friend, the two hacking their way down the tunnel towards the concealed cove with the other Wardens close behind.

“How do you plan on closing this off?” Nathaniel asked, leaning to one side and firing over Rowland’s shoulder. The arrow caught an emissary in the neck, the spell it had been casting fizzling out as it died.

“We need to get through it, first,” Daylen replied.

Keenan hesitated. “You want to be _outside_ the walls?”

“That’s where the darkspawn are,” Daylen said. “Push forward!” More of the Children scuttled forward, their limbs and claws fully grown, only for a mass of thick vines to explode through the ground and impale them. Daylen spotted another emissary, this one bearing heavier armor, and hit it with a mage-killer spell, seizing its staff as he passed by.

Velanna ducked back as a hurlock cleaved through her staff with a battle-axe, only for Seranni to dart forward, shattering the hurlock’s knee with a well-aimed kick and stabbing it through the neck. “Velanna!” Daylen shouted, tossing her the staff. The mage caught it deftly, spinning it around her head and incinerating a pair of genlocks with a burst of flame.

Oghren hacked his way towards the exit with Rowland and Anders behind him, the mage trading off rejuvenation spells with paralyzing glyphs and bolts of lightning. Oghren was laughing, carving through the crude armor the darkspawn were wearing as if it wasn’t even there, return blows glancing off his thick armor. A strike from a genlock’s axe that sheared off one of his beard plaits just made him angrier, and the dwarf bisected the darkspawn with an overhead strike, spinning on his heel to cleave deeper into the enemy lines.

“Out the other side!” Daylen shouted. “Go!”

The Wardens burst through the trapdoor on the other side of Amaranthine’s walls, the darkspawn army just visible over the ridge. Daylen mustered his mana, slamming the butt of Spellfury into the ground and triggering a localized earthquake. A gout of dust and dirt exploded from the trapdoor as the tunnel collapsed, sealing off the cove and the city from the outside. “The city is secure,” he rasped, downing a lyrium potion.

“Yeah, but we’re on the wrong side of the walls,” Rowland quipped.

“We’re right where we need to be,” Daylen replied. “The stable is still intact, right?” Rowland looked baffled, but nodded. “There was a warhorse there, a big black stallion. Saddle him up for me.”

“What are you planning?” Anders asked as Rowland and Keenan ran for the stable.

“Something either really brave or really stupid,” Daylen replied. “Come on.”

The Wardens assembled themselves in front of the city’s gates, the sentries shouting at them to come inside before it was too late. "Daylen, we can't hold against this, not with a dozen men," Anders said as the rain intensified.

Rowland handed him the reins to the horse, and Daylen swung into the saddle, grateful that he had taken some riding lessons before coming to Amaranthine. "We won't have to," The Warden-Commander replied, mana surging around him flaring as he chugged a lyrium potion. "Watch and learn, my friend." He spurred his horse forward, reaching upwards with his magic and feeling the raw power coursing through the sky. There was a great deal of energy ready to be harnessed, and the mage focused, bending the storm to his will. It was dangerous work on a good day – Daylen had never performed this particular bit of magic before, simply read about it, and the notes on the spell had emphasized how risky it was. The Warden-Commander had also never attempted to cast a spell from horseback, which only complicated matters.

There's an important factor to any offense, especially a massive one. Efficiency is important, of course, but one must never forget presentation. In some cases, that means a dramatic entrance. In another, it means harnessing a massive storm and dragging it behind you as you charge at an enemy army alone.

"Is he insane?" Velanna asked, watching the lightning arc across the clouds towing behind him.

"Obviously so," Anders commented as Daylen raised Spellfury high, the storm surging forward towards the darkspawn, lightning bolts arcing down to his staff and then forward to the front lines of the charging darkspawn. Too late, the horde realized Daylen's plan, and the unrelenting storm of lightning and ice fell upon the darkspawn as Daylen yanked on the reins, turning his horse back and galloping towards his Wardens at top speed.

The Warden-Commander was sagging in his saddle as he rejoined his friends, his eyes glazed and lightning still crackling around him. "All right, that one took more out of me than I expected," he rasped, patting his horse on the neck. "You did good. Takes a strong horse to do that." He heeled the charger around, watching as the storm wreaked havoc on the oncoming army.

“How did you do that?” Anders asked, not noticing Velanna scowling at Daylen. “I’ve never even heard of magic like that.”

“It’s a Dalish spell,” Daylen replied, dismounting the horse and letting it trot back to the stable. “It’s not much use unless there’s a large storm nearby, and even then it takes so much mana that it’s difficult to pull off. There’s a great deal of energy already in a storm like that, I just gathered it all up and directed it.” True to his word, the entirety of the stormclouds overhead seemed to be discharging all of their rain, cold, and lightning in one localized area, annihilating the incoming army. No more than a hundred stragglers made it through, a motley mix of hurlocks, ogres, and Children charging in a ragged mob.

“Anders, Velanna, hit them,” Daylen ordered, downing another lyrium potion and ignoring the lightning arcing from his body. Firestorms wreaked a heavy toll on the incoming darkspawn as the two mages raised their staves, and the Wardens formed up, waiting for what was left of the darkspawn army.

"Make no mistake, troops, this is a war, and we are outnumbered," Daylen said. "But you are Wardens. Strong, capable, fearless. Remember our creed! In Peace!"

" _Vigilance_!" The Wardens shouted as one.

"In War!"

" _Victory_!"

"In Death!"

" _Sacrifice_!"

Daylen drew Vigilance, pointing the sword at the onrushing horde. "Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none!"

The darkspawn reached them, and the battle was joined. Daylen tossed Spellfury to Velanna, who wielded it alongside her own staff, discharging dual gouts of fire into a clutch of hurlocks. Drawing his melee weapons, Daylen spun Vigilance in his hand, once again marveling at the sheer excellence of the sword as he neatly bisected an adult Childer, the top half of the darkspawn bouncing off his shield as lightning arced from the end of the sword, paralyzing several more of the grubs. Keenan darted past him, the man parrying two blows from a hurlock and shoving it back with a kick to the chest as Oghren’s backswing caught it in the spine.

The dwarf chuckled, ripping his axe free and hacking the legs out from under an ogre that was trying to crush Jukka, the dwarf’s new armor holding under the darkspawn’s crushing grip. Jukka slammed his restored sword up under the ogre’s jaw into its brain, nodding his thanks to Oghren before ripping the blade free and charging a cluster of Children that Sigrun and Rowland were fighting. Sigrun ducked low under Rowland’s sword, her daggers sliding between the plates of the darkspawn’s natural armor and cutting deep into vital organs. Rowland stomped hard on an injured Childer’s head, crushing what passed for the grub’s face into a soupy mess as Nathaniel backed past him, firing as quickly as he could grab new arrows from his belt quiver.

Serrani side-stepped a stab from a hurlock about to blindside Nathaniel and hamstrung it with her sword before jamming her dagger through its eye. Justice fell into a guard ahead of them, knocking aside an axe strike from a hurlock almost casually before bashing it in the face with his shield harder than any human could possibly manage. Justice’s mace burst into flame, and he glanced over at Anders, who gave him a cheeky grin before hosing down a clutch of Childer grubs with lightning as Velanna did the same with fire a few yards to his left.

Daylen darted forward between them, releasing a burst of intense cold that froze a nearby batch of hurlocks solid. He slammed the fist holding Vigilance into the ground, and a burst of force crushed the frozen darkspawn, shattering their bodies under the impact.

An ogre charged forward through the carnage Daylen had just unleashed, roaring a challenge. The Warden-Commander rolled out of the way of a crushing blow from the massive darkspawn, managing to come to his feet without perforating himself on his own sword and slashing the ogre's arm with the blade. Vigilance bit deep, cleaving through blighted flesh and bone alike and rendering the ogre's hand useless. It bellowed in pain and Daylen loosed a burst of pure frost around him, freezing the ogre solid as he slashed with Vigilance again, carving through vital points on the ogre. It thawed and collapsed, incapacitated by the horrendous damage Daylen had inflicted with Vigilance. Daylen leapt, stabbing his sword through the beast's improvised helmet and into its skull. The remaining lightning crackled down the blade, boiling the ogre’s brain inside its skull.

Daylen turned just in time to see Nathaniel put an arrow through the forehead of the last hurlock, the darkspawn groaning almost piteously as it keeled over. The Warden-Commander ripped Vigilance free, wiping tainted blood and gore from the edge and sheathing the sword. “And _that_ is how Grey Wardens take on an army.”

—AOTG—

“Shore up the gate!” Loghain bellowed. “Dworkin! Now!”

The pyromaniac dwarf cackled as he loaded more of the explosives into the catapult, before hitting the release lever. The explosives nearly blew the buckling metal of the gate in, but it killed the darkspawn on the other side as the defenders hammered shims into place of splintered beams, trying to brace the gate shut. Jowan was looking increasingly pale and nervous as he cast spell after spell, debilitating the enemy however he could. The other mages fallen back to the second wall, one of their number crushed by a boulder thrown by an ogre as he had unleashed a lightning storm upon the enemy.

“Look out!” Jowan bellowed from the ramparts, before an arrow caught him in the back, piercing through the dragonleather layers of his robes. He dragged himself to the edge, calling down to the defenders. “They’re coming!”

A pack of Children scuttled up and through the gap in the gate, ripping into the defenders trying to reinforce the barricade. Loghain’s Wardens charged forward trying to stop them, only for the gate to smash open as a pair of ogres on the other side managed to break through. “Hold them!” Loghain roared. “Hold them, men!”

Another catapult-load of Dworkin’s explosives sailed through the open gate, killing the ogres but knocking the defenders flat. Loghain pushed himself to his feet as a veritable flood of genlocks and hurlocks charged through, and the defenders formed up, the battle for Vigil’s Keep moving into the lower courtyard.

Loghain drew his sword, the dragonbone blade cutting neatly through a hurlock alpha’s armor as he stabbed it in the chest. The fight dissolved into a frenzy of hacking and stabbing, bolts of lightning and fireballs streaking back and forth as emissaries and the remaining mages got into the fight.

—AOTG—

“You must be sure that if anyone shows signs of Blight sickness that it is reported quickly,” Daylen was saying. “And if any more darkspawn emerge, touch nothing with your bare hands. You must be careful about this.”

“Of course, Commander,” the guard commander replied. “Are you returning to Vigil’s Keep?”

Daylen shook his head. “We’re heading to Drake’s Fall. The Keep will have to handle itself. We’re going after the source of this infestation.”

“May the Maker watch over you and keep you, Commander,” the commander said. “We will never forget what you’ve done here.”

—AOTG—

The hurlock’s axe would have split his head open if not for the dragonbone helmet Loghain was wearing. The helmet still buckled inwards under the impact, and he gutted the hurlock before ripping the helmet off, unable to see with it on.

“Loghain!” He turned, spotting Garevel trying to catch his attention. “The Children are attacking the east wall!” The man cut the legs out from under a hurlock that was battering a Warden with twin maces as he passed, sprinting through the open gate and past the bizarre garden someone had planted there to the eastern section of the courtyard.

Dozens of the Children were swarming over the wall, overwhelming the defenders before they could form up, and Loghain snarled as one leapt at him, his sword swing intercepting it mid-flight and cleaving it in half. The warrior set his feet, bearing several strikes from an adult Childer on his shield and waiting for his opening, before stabbing his sword into the creature’s midsection and twisting, cleaving through its heart. He knocked it off the end of his sword with a quick buck of his shield, calmly knocking a Childer hatchling’s jab at his legs aside and severing three of the creature’s limbs with a flick of his blade.

In the narrow space between the outbuildings, Loghain’s sword and shield dominated the space, letting him bear the weight of the incoming forces. But despite the Taint in his blood and the alchemical boost, he was only human, and eventually Loghain found himself falling back. He was ready to break and run for the gate when a handful of vines as thick as his wrist lashed past him, dragging an adult Childer into the underbrush of the garden, where a spray of blood was the only indication of the creature’s fate. More vines and roots sprang from the garden, and Loghain fell back further, leaving the remaining darkspawn to the tender mercies of the clearly territorial foliage.

Varel was mustering a defense at the gate, parrying two strikes from a hurlock and bashing its skull open with a pommel strike. “Hold together, men,” he roared. “Andraste’s blood, hold!” He killed another hurlock almost dismissively, raising his bloodstained greatsword high. “On me! For the Wardens! For Amaranthine!” He made to lead a charge, only for an ogre to come barreling through the gate, aiming directly for him.

There was a berserker yell, and a body came sailing off of the ramparts, landing on the ogre’s back and sliding off, the sudden impact dragging it off-course by the horns. Soaked in his own blood, Jowan looked barely capable of standing, but the mage’s eyes were alight and his teeth were bared in a feral snarl. “ _Enough_!” The blood on his robes flowed upwards and ignited in a burning cloud around him, and Jowan thrust his hands forward, the ogre jerking bolt upright and its arms and legs snapping back as the mage seized control of the creature’s blood. The ogre bent backwards, its spine snapping violently as tainted blood boiled from its eyes and mouth. Jowan turned, ripping more blood from the ogre with one hand as he threw the other out at the darkspawn coming through the gate, boiling their blood inside their veins.

When the spell ran its course, Jowan turned back to the stunned defenders and collapsed, Varel reaching his side as he slumped to the ground. Varel slung the mage’s good arm over his shoulder, dragging him towards the inner courtyard. “Come on, you crazy bastard, hold on, _medic_!” One of the remaining mages was at his side a moment later, azure light flaring around his hands as he set to work on Jowan.

Jowan’s stunt had cost him dearly, but it bought enough time for the defenders to regroup. When an armored ogre came barreling through the gates, it was caught in a crossfire between most of the Keep’s remaining archers, two mages, and a handful of warriors with crossbows. The armor deflected a great deal of the incoming arrows and bolts, but the sheer number of arrows that got through left the beast looking like an overgrown pincushion as it fell to the ground, critically injured. Loghain stormed forward with Lawrence and the remaining Wardens at his heels, dodging around the ogre’s thrashing limbs and jamming his sword through one of the eye-slits in the beast’s helmet. Yanking the blade back out amidst a nauseating gush of some unidentifiable fluid, Loghain thrust again, stabbing until the corpse stopped twitching.

Then a single hurlock strode through the gates, bearing a pair of wickedly curved axes. “The Herald will not be so easily thwarted, puny Warden. I have come for you! Face me if you dare!”

“He’s not in,” Loghain snarled. “Archers!” The hurlock paused at Loghain’s words, moments before everyone capable of doing so opened fire. What hit the ground was less a darkspawn and more a tattered pile of tainted meat and gristle.

With the loss of their general, the remaining darkspawn broke and fled, chased by arrows and magic until they were out of sight before cheers began going up in earnest. A handful more managed to fall into the hidden pits or set off traps that had somehow been missed earlier, and Loghain breathed a sigh of relief as the remaining mages immediately set to work healing the wounded.

“We’ve…we’ve won,” Garevel said softly. “The price was dear, but the Vigil holds.”

“You doubted?” Loghain asked. Without waiting for an answer, he jerked his head at the broken gates. “Make sure every darkspawn bastard out there is dead. Get some men and set to throat-cutting.” He looked up at the sky, wondering where the incoming storm had gone. “I just hope the Warden-Commander and his men are still alive.”

—AOTG—

It had taken serious effort to drag Oghren and Anders away from the city, both intent on getting roaring drunk to celebrate the victory at Amaranthine. “Drake’s Fall is an old Tevinter fortress,” Nathaniel was saying, at the reins of the wagon the group had commandeered. “It’s supposed to be a crumbling ruin, out in the Dragonbone Wastes.”

“The Dragonbone Wastes,” Daylen said tiredly. “Isn’t there anything in this arling that has a happy name?”

“The Dalish know it as the Dragon’s Rest,” Velanna offered.

Daylen shrugged. “I vote we call it that from now on.” He rubbed at his eyes, feeling the lyrium he had consumed surging mana in his body despite his fatigue.

“So what’s the plan?” Nathaniel asked as they came to a crossroads. “Do we head south to the Keep, or northwest to the Wastes?”

“Northwest,” Daylen replied. “If the Mother’s army attacked Amaranthine and the Keep, it’s not protecting her, at least not the bulk of it.”

“That’s a rather dangerous assumption,” Keenan warned. “Who’s to say she didn’t hold some in reserve?”

“You’ve got a point, but nothing the Mother has done has shown even the slightest indication of subtlety,” Daylen replied. “Besides, I’m betting that the Architect will be there as well, with whatever forces he has.”

“What makes you say that?” Rowland asked.

“He wants to be friends, supposedly,” Daylen explained. “Wants us to trust him. If he’s on the level, he wants the Mother dead as much as we do, which means he’ll commit his own forces.”

“Meaning they could take each other out for us, or at least weaken each other enough that _we_ could finish them off,” Jukka realized.

“Even if he’s trying to get us killed, if the Mother is there a great deal of her followers will not be,” Daylen pressed. “We’re not going to get a better chance. She’s a broodmother – every day she lives is more darkspawn she pops out.” He scrubbed at his eyes again. “Rest in shifts, people. We have to keep going.”

“It’s about a day’s trip, maybe two,” Nathaniel called. “We’re making good time, but it’s no small distance.”

—AOTG—

They made it in a day and a half. The sun had set as they reached the edge of the Feravel Plains, the landscape rolling up into rocky hills and withered trees. The wind picked up the loose dust and dirt that remained from decades of erosion that had worn the topsoil down, exposing raw bedrock in places and dozens of skeletons that were unmistakably dragons in others.

“Sweet Maker,” Daylen breathed. “I’d have thought they’d have stripped this place clean a century ago.”

“The weather must have scoured away the dirt and exposed it,” Rowland said. “How much do you think is usable?”

“More than enough,” Daylen replied, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Oh, we are going to come back for this.”

“Won’t be able to sell it all at once,” Nathaniel warned. “You’d flood the market and drive the prices down.”

Daylen scoffed. “We’ll send some to Gwaren, to Kirkwall, to Denerim, to Orzammar – goodness, what do you think _Orzammar_ could do with a load of dragonbone?”

“Daylen,” Anders prodded. “Don’t you think we have bigger concerns right now?” The group dismounted, heading towards the remains of the fortress.

The Wardens were immediately sure that they had found the right place – even if the stench of broodmothers hadn’t been hanging over the place, the dozens of darkspawn bearing both the colors of the Architect and the Mother fighting each other would have settled any question.

“Let’s keep our distance,” Daylen said. “Let them kill off each other.”

“Oh come on,” Oghren protested. “Let’s mix it up!”

Daylen shook his head. “Need to save ourselves for the big game, Oghren.” The berserker grumbled, but fell silent. “Sigrun, may I borrow your spyglass a moment?” The scout handed it over, and Daylen peered down at the battle going on. “No sign of the Architect, or that dwarf that was with him, but plenty of darkspawn.”

The Wardens waited as the darkspawn slaughtered each other, before slowly moving in, picking off the stragglers and survivors as they worked their way towards the base of the fortress.

Daylen cracked a genlock upside the head with a two-handed blow from his staff, blowing a hole in another genlock’s chest with a bolt of magic before stomping on the first genlock’s head until it stopped twitching. “Keep moving! Let’s end this!” A dark shape blew by overhead, and Daylen skidded to a halt.

The dragon hit the packed soil of the Wastes hard, roaring at the party.

"Looks like I just found my new boots!" Daylen bellowed, his blood fully up. "Kill it!" All three mages cast at once, roots erupting through the soil and binding the dragon in place as Daylen froze it in place and Anders petrified it. The warriors and skirmishers set to hacking it apart, aiming for the legs and wings. Anders and Daylen cast every spell they could think of to bind the dragon. Jukka darted between the bindings on the beast’s legs and slashed the dragon’s throat open, blood spraying violently across the landscape. The beast managed to break free of the spells freezing it in place and sprayed fire, Nathaniel nearly dropping his bow and rolling out of the way of the flames. Daylen snarled and charged, slamming Spellfury against the ground and sending a series of icy spikes erupting from the soil into the underside of the dragon’s neck, spearing it in place. The dragon managed to break free momentarily and smacked Daylen with its tail, sending the Warden-Commander soaring across the battlefield.

Sigrun hollered a war cry, leaping onto the dragon’s snout as Anders froze the dragon’s tail to the ground, and the duster slammed her sword through the dragon’s hide at the base of the skull, wrenching the blade back and forth and going for a killing blow as the dragon tried to break free of the spikes impaling its neck. Sigrun leaned on the blade, driving the point between two of the dragon’s vertebrae and severing the spine. The dragon gurgled and went slack, and Anders sprinted to Daylen’s side as Sigrun slid off the dragon’s neck and to the ground, panting.

“You all right?” Anders asked.

Daylen coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood from a bitten tongue along with a part of one of his teeth, and feeling every inch of his body screaming at him. Both his shoulders and several of his other joints were dislocated by the impact, but the armor had saved him from being immediately killed. "Do I bloody look all right?" He twitched the mental muscle that made his magic work and winced, feeling bones realigning as his magic took effect. Daylen sat up, wondering why the world was tilting. "It seems I managed to best them, even while mostly unconscious. I am that amazing."

Anders shook his head as he checked him over. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"Not if I can help it," Daylen said, grinning through bloody teeth. "I'll live. Probably. Help me up." Justice extended a hand, and Daylen groaned as he stood up, tendons popping as he stood. Leaning on Spellfury, Daylen nodded his thanks to the possessed corpse, before glancing around. “Was that the last of the organized resistance out here?”

“Best as we can tell,” Nathaniel reported, Keenan and Rowland at his side.

Daylen shrugged. “Well, suppose we should be grateful the darkspawn aren’t all that smart. If this place were properly defended we wouldn’t have a chance of getting in.” He tried the knob on the silverite door that led into the fortress, and it swung open, unresisting. “They didn’t even bar the door.”

"How do you think things are going back at the Keep?" Sigrun asked, leading the way down the stairs.

"They are outnumbered and besieged," Justice said. "They will fall eventually."

"Thank you, Ser Sunshine," Daylen groused. "They'll hold out."

Strangely enough, the passage went _down_ , not up as they had expected. There were a handful of darkspawn loyal to the Mother inside, the Architect’s forces apparently having not made it past the door. The dwarven Wardens took the point, Oghren’s axe breaking apart the darkspawn defensive lines as Jukka hammered away, Sigrun darting in to land devastating strikes against distracted darkspawn. The perky duster gleefully lobbed grenades over the darkspawn’s heads, sending acid and incendiary fluid raining down on the Tainted creatures. The Wardens slowed their advance, taking the time to smash every egg that looked like it might have spawned or might spawn a Childer in the future, along with the throbbing pustules that held unborn darkspawn. The air was thick with the stench of broodmother and rotting meat, and the farther down they went, the fewer hurlocks and genlocks they encountered, replaced more and more by the Children.

Daylen paused, turning. “It’s _him_.” The other Wardens sensed it a moment later, turning as the Architect emerged on a broken ledge above their position. The Tainted dwarf next to him drew her sword, but the Architect shook his head.

“No, Utha. That is not how this must begin.” The Architect turned its gaze back to Daylen. “I owe you an apology, Commander. When we last met, I intended to explain myself.” It spread its hands and stepped off the ledge, slowly descending to the floor in front of the Warden-Commander. “Fate, however, intervened.”

“We escaped, you mean,” Daylen growled. “You experimented on me. Took my blood.”

“I restrained you only to prevent exactly the kind of misunderstanding that occurred with the rest of your order.”

“Misunderstanding?” Anders echoed. “Is that what you call it?”

“I sent the Withered to speak to the Grey Wardens, and your people perceived it as an attack. I am rarely able to predict how your kind will react. It was most unfortunate."

"Yeah," grunted Oghren, "the kind of 'unfortunate' that ends up with a pile of dead people. I get that a lot."

“Yeah, when darkspawn launch a surprise attack on a fortified position and kill everyone they see, it’s hard to see it as anything but an attack,” Daylen spat. “You took those men and bled them dry. Dragged Wardens – good men – back to your hole to be experimented on!”

"The Grey Wardens who were brought to me were already dead—"

“Bullshit!” Keenan shouted. “I was taken alive, as were other Wardens. Your fucking darkspawn _smashed my legs_!”

“Keenan, please,” Daylen said, his tone sickly sweet. “The darkspawn is trying to lie to us.” He turned back to the Architect. “Please, continue lying.”

“I took their blood just as I took yours, because I had little choice. Things have not gone as I planned.”

“You had plenty of choice,” Daylen snarled.

“I only ask that you hear me out. Should you still wish to slay me afterward, you may try."

Privately, Daylen estimated their chances at beating this creature at far longer than he would have liked. “Fine,” he said. “Speak.”

“My kind has ever been driven to seek out the Old Gods. This is our nature. When we find one, a Blight is begun. Each time, we attack your surface lands, and you fight back until we are defeated.”

“And in between Blights, darkspawn attack the surface at random, kidnapping and killing indiscriminately,” Daylen retorted.

“To break the cycle, my brethren must be free of their compulsion,” the Architect continued as if Daylen hadn’t interrupted. “For that, I need Grey Warden blood.”

“You’re trying to stop the Blights?” Daylen asked skeptically.

“Hundreds of thousands of my kind are killed before each Blight is ended,” the Architect explained. “It is a plague on our race.”

“And your race is a plague upon the rest of the world,” Daylen muttered.

“We do not begin a Blight because we crave power or destruction,” the Architect protested. “We obey the call of the Old Gods – without choice. In order to become what you are, you drink the blood of my kind. To transform. Similarly, _we_ must transform. I have created a version of your Joining that uses the blood of Grey Wardens. You take the Taint into yourself. What we take is your resistance. That is how my brethren are freed. In your blood lies the key to their immunity against the call of the Old Gods.”

“I like my blood where it is,” Anders declared. “In my veins, where it belongs.”

“Not all of them seem very happy with their freedom,” Daylen replied. “Some seem intelligent. Others seem insane.”

“Once they are freed, the darkspawn think for themselves, they speak, they act. Some, however, have reacted poorly.”

“Was that the logic you used to justify your Seeker kidnapping two elves, murdering the rest, and framing humans for it?” Seranni spat.

“Seranni,” the Architect said sadly. “I had hoped you would work with me.”

“You manipulated me,” the elf snarled. “Lied to me.”

“The Mother gathers the flawed darkspawn to stop me, as she seeks to stop you. I cannot defeat the Mother alone, and I cannot free the darkspawn unless she is defeated. Our goals are the same. I am not your enemy.”

“An enemy wouldn’t imprison us, steal our belongings, experiment upon us, and have his minions attempt to kill us, including setting two dragons on us,” Daylen snapped. “Your experiments clearly don’t hold much water. The Mother is a _broodmother_. You may be an idiot, but you must know how your kind reproduces. And when a broodmother has lost her mind and been twisted into a darkspawn, you go and give her self-awareness.” Daylen paused, suddenly remembering something from the Architect’s notes. “The Mother wasn’t the only creature you experimented on, was it.” The Architect stared at him, impassive. “You found something _bigger_ , first, didn’t you? Something _sleeping_? Something you contemplated killing, but instead you attempted your little Joining ritual on it?” Daylen felt his heart begin to pound in his ears, fury surging. “You corrupted Urthemiel, didn’t you?”

“My hope was that this would free all darkspawn, unravel the curse from its source,” the Architect admitted. “Alas, I was unlucky.”

“You started the Blight,” Daylen said. “And even if you managed to free your kind from the call of the Old Gods, you'll have to continue to steal and rape women on a regular basis, and the mere presence of darkspawn will continue to sicken and kill anything else alive in the world. And that’s assuming that you could even live up to your promise, since you created this whole mess and your followers seem uninterested in following your orders.”

“I offer you the chance to end the cycle,” the Architect replied. “To end the Blights.”

Daylen took a slow, steadying breath. “I have a counteroffer.” He slammed the crystal at the end of Spellfury into the Architect’s gut, discharging a torrential bolt of lightning into the darkspawn’s body.

The Architect barely flinched. “I am sorry, Utha,” he said, as Daylen stared in horror. “It appears I will not be able to keep my promise after all.”

And then everyone moved at once. Jukka and Sigrun engaged Utha, as the Architect released a blast of raw force that knocked almost everyone off their feet. Daylen began casting from the floor, pushing himself to his feet as he let loose a chain of entropic curses that would have made Morrigan proud. Anders released several creation spells, bolstering the other Wardens as Oghren barreled forward, his axe slamming into the Architect’s side. The weapon glanced off the creature’s hide, and Daylen shouted for the warriors to fall back as Rowland bellowed in pain as his flesh caught fire, the Architect releasing a cataclysmic burst of primal magic that nearly consumed the entire room. Daylen brought up every shielding spell he knew, the world distorting around him through a haze of magic as he layered on defensive magics. Utha’s head went rolling across the floor as Sigrun finished the fallen Warden off, and the two Legionnaires scampered back up the stairs and out of the line of fire. Justice ignored the flames, dragging the critically injured Roland over to Anders, the healer setting to work as Daylen and the Architect engaged. Darkspawn came clattering up the stairs from below, and the other Wardens set to work, hacking them apart as quickly as they could.

Daylen fancied himself a capable battlemage, but he knew his limits. The Architect seemed to have none, casting spells without pausing or flinching as Daylen kept moving. The Warden-Commander managed to hide behind warding glyphs and creation magic to counter flares of primal magic he knew he had no chance of blocking, but the Architect’s blasts of raw force sent him sprawling more than once. The latest knocked him flat, and Spellfury went clattering across the stone floor, out of reach. Daylen cursed, drawing Vigilance. The Architect made to loose another blast at him, only to stagger as Seranni sank both of her blades into its unprotected back.

“That was for my people,” she hissed in the creature’s misshapen ear as it gasped for breath, distracting the Architect from Daylen’s charge. He swung Vigilance up and over his shoulder, cleaving through the Architect's wrist as it made to unleash another blast of force at close range, before kicking it in the knee, dropping the Architect to a more reasonable level. Daylen brought Vigilance down, the blade biting into the Architect's collarbone and cleaving deep into its body. The blade stuck, and Daylen gave it two tugs before letting go of the grip and punching the Architect in the face as hard as he could. The Architect fell flat on its back, and Daylen pressed the attack, kneeling over the darkspawn emissary's body and pounding its face in with his gauntleted fists.

"This! Is what! Grey Wardens! Do! To darkspawn!" Whatever else he had to say dissolved into a string of grunted profanity as Daylen kept punching until his fists were hitting the stone floor of the chamber. Leaning back, he coughed, spitting out darkspawn blood that had found its way into his mouth.

"Well, that was gruesome," Sigrun said, offering Daylen a mostly-clean rag. Daylen gratefully accepted it, scrubbing his face clean.

"Was that necessary?" Justice asked as Daylen stood, panting.

"Absolutely," Daylen growled. "This…thing, sent its disciples to kill and capture the Grey Wardens that were at Vigil's Keep. It tainted an Old God and started the Fifth Blight, which killed thousands and could have destroyed this world if I hadn't personally stopped it." He looked the possessed corpse in the face. "Is it not justice to destroy the source of so much misery?"

The Wardens spent several minutes collecting themselves and healing their assorted injuries, Oghren offering up a moonshine-filled canteen to settle everyone’s nerves. “Just the broodmother left, then,” the berserker said. “Then we can all have a couple dozen drinks.”

Daylen cast a preservation spell on the Architect’s corpse, as well as Utha’s. At the lowest level, they found a room that appeared to have no other exit, but the foul spongy material that made up the full reach of a Broodmother was everywhere.

“Did we miss a passage someplace?” Keenan asked.

“I was hoping so,” Daylen said, staring at the wall, but I’m afraid that seems to be the way forward. A mass of the Broodmother’s flesh was crawling up the wall, but there appeared to be a narrow passage through the center of it. “Oghren, not _one word_ about this.” The berserker gave a belly laugh. “I’m serious. The official story is we found the Mother at the bottom of the tower. _No mention of this_!”

The repulsive material pressed in around them as they slid through the narrow aperture, and Daylen closed his eyes, probing forward blindly and stumbling out the other side into a cavern. The other Wardens followed closely, and Daylen tried to ignore his stomach turning as a fresh wave of stench hit him. Cracks in the roof let traces of the morning light into the cavern, and as Justice brought up the rear, the Warden-Commander peering into the dimly lit cavern.

“She’s over there,” Seranni hissed, pointing. “On that rocky outcrop.” Sure enough, the tentacles of a broodmother could be seen slowly swaying in the faint light, and dozens of the gray lumps that held Childer grubs were scattered around the cavern.

“Stay sharp,” Daylen warned. “Come on.” The Wardens slowly crept forward, expecting darkspawn to come from every direction. But as they approached the Mother, nothing came surging out of the darkness.

“If it isn’t the hero of the hour!” The Mother screeched. “The slayer of the mighty Father, come to claim a reward! Oh, what a delicious day!”

“Creators preserve us,” Velanna breathed. “I have never seen such foulness.”

“Am I not beautiful?” The Mother asked. Daylen was too busy trying not to throw up to answer directly, but perhaps she might have been once. Her red eyes, scarred face, and the tainted blood seeping from her tear ducts and mouth ruined any chance of being considered fetching, however. “Has the Grey Warden come now to slay the Mother, too? Will she join the Father in oblivion?”

Daylen swallowed the bile crawling up his throat. “This ‘Father’ would be the Architect, I suppose?”

“He called himself ‘Architect,’ but that did not change what he was. He said he wanted to free us. But all he brought was silence. Oh, dreadful silence! But now the Father is gone. The Mother can take her children deep into the earth and care for them, safe and sound.”

“Until you decide to attack us again,” Daylen pointed out. “You have besieged my entire arling. How could I trust you?”

“Oh, the Mother knows your ways,” the Mother replied. “You will not let her be, no…not after what she’s done. So it must end, it all must come crashing down! Perhaps we will hear the song again when we die. Oh, let it come, let it come!” Daylen jerked back as the broodmother’s face split open, the creature letting out a deafening shriek.

The noises of skittering limbs and chittering echoed off the walls of the cavern, and the Wardens fell into defensive positions as a flood of the Childer grubs stormed out of the darkness. Daylen ignored them until they got close, before releasing a massive burst of frost in all directions, freezing the grubs in place as well as several barbed tentacles that had erupted through the foul tissue that squelched under their feet. The Wardens set to smashing them as Daylen downed another lyrium potion, before dropping a firestorm directly on top of the Mother. The broodmother screeched in agony as the flames seared her flesh, and Daylen froze several more tentacles before they could blindside his Wardens as they smashed more and more of the grubs. Anders and Velanna began flinging fireballs, incinerating as many of the Children in their eggs as they could. Choking smoke began to gather overhead, blocking out more of the light and darkening the cavern further.

The firestorm ran its course, and the Mother sagged, her flesh blackened and split in multiple places. The broodmother was still alive, gurgling and choking on blood as Daylen mustered more mana. “Maker take you into his arms. I am sorry for what I must do.” He leveled Spellfury at the Mother, releasing a torrent of lightning and maintaining it until the darkspawn stopped twitching.

“Everyone still alive?” Daylen called, squinting against the darkness. “Sound off!”

“Legionnaires are all right,” Jukka called. “Sigrun got the wind knocked out of her, but she’s here. So’s Oghren.”

“Nathaniel’s unconscious, I’m working on him,” Anders called. “Velanna and Seranni are here with me.”

“We’re all here, Commander,” Rowland finished. “Keenan’s right next to me.”

“Good. Get everyone back on their feet, let’s get out of here,” Daylen ordered.

—AOTG—

Luckily enough, the wagon and oxen were still where the Wardens had left them, and after stuffing the recovered corpses into the back they departed for Amaranthine, killing isolated and leaderless packs of darkspawn they happened across on the way.

Velanna was watching Nathaniel carefully as the man retrieved some arrows from a clutch of genlocks who had barely broken from the treeline before the archer had downed them. “I may have misjudged you a little.”

Nathaniel turned, discarding a warped arrow as Daylen and Anders dragged the corpses into a pile. “Just a little?”

“I sometimes paint all humans with the same brush,” Velanna admitted.

Nathaniel shrugged. “As long as it's such a pretty brush, I don't mind.”

Velanna’s eyebrows furrowed. “I'm sure I don't know what that means.”

Nathaniel smiled. “It means your apology is appreciated, my lady.”

“Well, then. Good.” Her eyes widened. “Wait. When you were talking about the pretty brush, did you mean... me?”

Nathaniel chuckled. “It can't be the first time someone's said you're pretty.”

“And if it is?” Velanna asked archly.

“Then you must not talk to many people.”

Velanna scowled. “Most people aren't worth talking to.”

“Is your sister?” Nathaniel asked. “For the longest time, I thought my sister was dead. When we were children, she put beetles in my blankets. She would laugh to hear me shriek.”

Velanna actually smiled in response. “Seranni liked to put sap in my hair. She also pushed me into an icy river. Twice.”

Nathaniel winced. “Ouch.”

Velanna paused. “Yes. Why did I want to rescue her, again?”

“Hey!” Seranni called. “You know you love me!”

—AOTG—

Smoke was rising over Amaranthine as they arrived, and an arrow nearly caught Anders in the shoulder as sentries caught sight of them. “Hold!” Daylen bellowed. “We’re Wardens!”

“Hold your fire, you idiot!” someone on the walls shouted. “Can’t you see they’re not darkspawn?”

“What’s the big idea?” Daylen called. “Open up!”

“Sorry, Commander! We’re under orders to keep the city sealed!”

“Who’s orders?” Daylen demanded.

“Warden Loghain’s, Commander!”

Daylen rolled his eyes. “I gave him those orders to secure Amaranthine! Open the bleeding gate!”

The gate slowly creaked open, and the Wardens entered, the archer who had fired at them standing nearby. “Sorry, Commander. It won’t happen again.”

Daylen waved him off. “What’s with the smoke?”

“The other Wardens are burning the darkspawn bodies,” the archer explained. “Loghain is waiting for you at the citadel, coordinating the cleanup effort.”

Sure enough, Loghain was barking orders when the Wardens arrived, and he actually smiled when he spotted Daylen. “Commander. Good to see you still among the living.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Daylen said tiredly, collapsing into a nearby chair. “My Wardens need food and billeting.”

Loghain caught an orderly’s attention. “Take care of it.” The orderly left immediately and Loghain looked back to Daylen. “What happened here?”

“The rest of the Mother’s army attacked,” Daylen replied. “They sealed the gates, but the darkspawn came through a smuggler’s tunnel. We arrived just in time to shut the gates the darkspawn had thrown open, kill the darkspawn in the city, and rescue who we could. Most of the civilians survived. They fled to the Chantry when the darkspawn were sighted. The rest of the darkspawn force – the ones I’m guessing didn’t attack the Keep – arrived hours later. We destroyed them.”

“What, alone?” Loghain asked.

Daylen gave him a tired grin. “I am a rather capable mage. That storm that was coming in off the ocean? I just redirected it. We could handle what was left.”

“Andraste’s blood,” Loghain breathed. “You can do such a thing?”

“I think you can do just about anything with enough mana,” Daylen admitted. “The trick is in knowing how.”

“Well, you left quite a mess, but we’ve got the bodies cleaned up,” Loghain replied. “There have been no reported raids in the past few days. I assume you killed the Architect and the Mother.”

“And a High Dragon,” Daylen added, leaning his head back. “I’m guessing the Architect had it enthralled and brought it along to make up for his lack of forces. Either way, it seems like most of the darkspawn have fled back to the Deep Roads. We’ll be hunting down packs of them for a while yet, I expect.”

“Well, the reports are still coming in,” Loghain went on. “Many farms are devastated, but your patrols saved many more than we lost. The goods you helped recover are being distributed to the survivors, although it seems there’s a new charity in the city.” Daylen raised his head. “The Blight Orphan’s Fund?”

Daylen burst out laughing. “They were a couple of drunks we helped out. Is it legitimate?”

“Seems to be so far,” Loghain remarked.

Daylen nodded. “Good. Now, what happened back at the Keep?”

“It was a brutal siege, but we were prepared, thanks to your efforts,” Loghain reported. “The golems you recovered proved invaluable, and the cellars housed every refugee that came to the Keep. Glavonak’s reinforcements meant the walls held, and Wade’s armor kept your men alive.” He smirked. “They’re being called the Silver Order now. That mage friend of yours, Jowan, saved a lot of lives. Crazy bastard threw himself off the battlements and tackled an ogre.”

Daylen chuckled. “Jowan’s grown up. He still alive?”

“He was hurt badly, but was sitting up when I left, and both of those mabari were keeping an eye on him,” Loghain replied. “They held the entrance to the basements during the siege and kept the refugees safe. I left Jowan in charge with your seneschal.” He paused. “What happened to Bann Esmerelle, by the way?”

“Long story,” Daylen drawled. “But I’m thinking Nathaniel’s sister ought to be the new Bann. She’s got the training, she’s married now, so she won’t have the Howe name weighing her down. And I don’t think the Howes should all pay for Rendon’s mistakes.” He lifted his head. “And yours.”

Loghain grimaced. “Very well. We’ve received word from the dwarves, proclaiming that House Helmi intends to reclaim the fortress. The dwarves also,” He flipped to a report and read aloud, “intend to ‘induct the casteless into the Warrior caste in honor of their service.’ Once the fortress is reclaimed, of course.” He paused. “The Keep is intact, although the gates need repairs and there were heavy losses among the garrison. The Wardens I brought were hit hard. I think you ought to get back there. I can handle things here.”

Daylen nodded. “That was my plan.”

“I want to thank you for saving this city,” Nathaniel said softly. “I’m sure my ancestors would be grateful as well.”

“Even to us?” Seranni asked skeptically.

Nathaniel shrugged. “Velanna would terrify them, but they would be grateful nonetheless. At least until you became inconvenient.” Velanna gave him a toothy grin, and Nathaniel winked at her.

Daylen glanced over. “Where’s Oghren?”

“Drinking everything that isn’t nailed down,” Keenan said. “Anders is trying to pace him.”

“That ought to go well,” Daylen mumbled.

“Sers,” the orderly said, returning. “We’ve arranged food and billeting for you.”

—AOTG—

The Grey Wardens arose early the next morning, some of them in varying levels of hung over or still drunk. They ate, gathered their equipment, and set out for Vigil’s Keep.

The plume of smoke from burning corpses was visible from miles away, and as they approached the Keep, more and more piles of charred darkspawn corpses were visible. Cheers went up from the ramparts as they recognized the Wardens, and the gate opened as hundreds of refugees spilled out. The crowd surrounded the wagon, cheering and congratulating their success against the darkspawn. Daylen stood, waving for silence, and the crowd quieted. “The darkspawn are not yet defeated. Warbands remain in Amaranthine, and we must be vigilant. But the Grey Wardens will be here to protect you. No darkspawn will set foot in this arling unopposed as long as one of us draws breath.” Cheers went up. “For now, let us heal our wounded, mourn our dead, and toast our victory!”

—AOTG—

Jowan groaned as the door slammed open, Cupcake and Adria’s mabari both perking up. “Can’t a man rest in peace?”

“Oi, dickhead,” Daylen called as he entered the room. “I thought I told you to lay off the stupid bravery!” Cupcake barked happily, bounding over to Daylen and nuzzling his hand.

Jowan chuckled, before wincing as his injuries protested. “Real funny, Daylen. It worked, didn’t it?”

Daylen set a hand on Jowan’s chest, sending a pulse of healing magic through him. The mage grunted as his wounds closed, and Daylen nodded. “You did well. Everyone’s talking about Jowan the hero.” Daylen grinned at his friend. "You've come a long way, brother. You never had a path to walk in confidence, and here you are now, blazing your way through life protecting people."

Jowan nodded, but his eyes were dark. “Daylen, I had to use blood magic to do it. It won’t be safe here.”

“Yes it will,” Daylen replied immediately. “Wardens are allowed to use blood magic, as you know. And everyone who witnessed it who hasn’t seen blood magic before thought it was just Warden magic.”

Jowan stared at him. “They can’t be that dense.”

“Oh, my, yes they can,” Daylen said brightly. “And that’s what’s going in the official story. My reports to Weisshaupt will have the truth, of course, but as far as anyone else knows, you’re just a particularly skilled mage.” He paused. “Which is true, of course.”

“We lost a lot of good men and women,” Jowan replied. “If we hadn’t set up all those traps…we might not have made it.”

“But we did,” Daylen pressed. “Now I’m going to get started on the cleanup.” He glanced down. “I think she’s imprinting on you.” The dog whined, her head on Jowan’s knee. “Oh, yes, she is.”

“I can barely take care of myself, let alone a dog,” Jowan protested.

Daylen rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m pretty sure Cupcake is smarter than I am. If anything, _she’ll_ take care of _you_.” Jowan scratched the dog behind the ears, the dog licking his hand.

The blood mage studied the dog for a moment, the mabari looking back at him. “I think I’ll call her Lily,” Jowan said softly.

—AOTG—

“We’re almost out of pitch,” Varel admitted as they surveyed the courtyard. “There’s just so many bodies. The mages have been igniting them with magic, but they can only do so much. The refugees have been asked to stay within the walls, so as to avoid contamination by the darkspawn.”

“Good.” The Warden-Commander’s eyes narrowed as he saw a burned section of the courtyard. “Wasn’t that Velanna’s garden?”

Varel winced. “Yes, Commander. When the darkspawn broke through the gate, the garden…intervened. The darkspawn burned it down, but we found the remains of a dozen of the creatures in the ashes.”

Daylen snorted. “Well, Velanna should be proud of that, at least.”

The mages set to work as the warriors and skirmishers dragged the corpses into piles, the traps that had been dug proving invaluable as makeshift burning pits.

Anders, Velanna, and Daylen were standing in a line along the trench, casting fireballs and gouts of flame against the piles of corpses. A crowd of refugees had slowly gathered, watching the proceedings. “The chip on my shoulder hasn't replaced my head,” Velanna finally said.

Anders turned. “Whoa. She's talking to me. Voluntarily. Check the sky for flying pigs!”

Velanna groaned. “Forget it.”

The mage chuckled. “I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself.”

Velanna sighed, shaking her head. “Humans and their irrepressible urges.” The two cast without further conversation for a few minutes, before Velanna broke the silence. “My fireballs are bigger than yours.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “It's not the size that counts, Velanna.”

Velanna raised an eyebrow right back at him. “Did they tell you that in your Circle? They were trying not to hurt your feelings.”

Anders gasped. “The Circle lied to me? Andraste's sword, my world is falling apart! I have been unmanned!” Daylen sputtered out a laugh and nearly set the grass at his feet on fire as he lost focus. A few children yelped, but Daylen quickly stamped the smoldering grass out, grinning at the children.

Jowan wandered past the crowds, still leaning heavily on his staff, offering healing to the adults and sweets to the children. “He’s a good sort,” Nathaniel remarked, tipping a wheelbarrow full of darkspawn body parts into the trench. “How’d you come by him?”

“We were friends back at the Circle,” Daylen replied, helping Nathaniel shake out the remains. “The night I was recruited into the Wardens, he found out he was to be made Tranquil.” Daylen paused at Nathaniel’s baffled look and proceeded to horrify him with the details. “Anyway, Jowan talked me into helping him destroy his phylactery and escape the tower. We got caught on the way out. Jowan escaped, but Duncan recruited me before they could string me up as a scapegoat. I met him again at Redcliffe. Loghain and your father had sent him to poison Arl Eamon, trying to remove threats to their power. I set him loose with the understanding he would go to the Wardens for protection. He was at Soldier’s Peak through the end of the Blight and clearly wasn’t wasting time up there. He’s probably a match for Velanna in terms of skill – I wouldn’t put money on him necessarily winning, but Velanna certainly wouldn’t enjoy the victory.” Daylen glanced over at his friend. “I think she likes you."

Nathaniel looked baffled. "Are you joking? She argues with me more than any of the others."

"Yes, but that's part of it. Neither of you really dislikes the other – believe me, I've seen when two people can't stand each other. She's not nearly that fiery with anyone she's not actively setting on fire."

"But...to her, I'm just a shemlen. Don't Dalish hate humans as a rule? Especially human nobility?"

"Well, the Dalish elves I've met have been suspicious as a rule, but generally pleasant people. There was only one I couldn't particularly stand. I've found that people are people, no matter what their ears or eyes or beards look like. If you're not sure, just ask her."

"The direct approach, eh?" Nathaniel considered it. "Very sneaky. I'll try it." He sidled up next to Velanna. "Excuse me. Could I ask you something?"

She looked at him disdainfully. "You just did."

"True," Nathaniel acceded. "Do you...er, Dalish, hate humans as a rule?"

"No. We dislike them for their attitudes and what they have done to our people, and personal views may vary, but in general, Dalish don't hate humans."

"I...good," Nathaniel said quickly. "That's good." A pause ensued that was all the more awkward for its brevity, so thick it was almost tangible. "Look, Velanna, I..." he broke off, clearing his throat. “That is to say..." he paused again. "Nothing. Never mind."

" _Just tell me how you feel, you giant child_!" Velanna finally burst out.

—AOTG—

_The Disciples  
The disciples are darkspawn that have become sapient after some sort of process of awakening, after which they choose their own names. They are cunning, powerful, and hold influence over non-awakened darkspawn._

_The disciples are split into two factions. Some serve the Architect, some the Mother._

_The Architect is responsible for awakening the disciples. Those who now serve the Mother appear to have turned to her because they resent their newfound freedom._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	11. After-Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great deal of talking and revelations take place. Plans are made, secrets are spilled, and a few old characters return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The Architect  
The Architect was a powerful darkspawn possessed of an intelligence seldom seen in his kind--and obsessed with Grey Wardens. He seemed to be conducting strange experiments in the old silverite mines near the Wending Wood, although their purpose was impossible to discern._

_The Architect finally revealed his plan as the Warden-Commander was preparing to kill the Mother. The Architect was born with a mind of his own, able to ignore the call of the Old Gods. He dreamt of freeing all darkspawn from their urge to seek out the Old Gods, thereby ending the threat of future Blights._

_To awaken other darkspawn, however, he employed a modified version of the Joining using the blood of a Grey Warden. He allegedly sent the disciple known as the Withered to Vigil's Keep to propose an alliance, but the Wardens misunderstood the Withered's intentions and attacked._

_The Architect wished to ally with the Grey Wardens to destroy the Mother, but the Warden-Commander refused to deal with darkspawn and killed the Architect._

—AOTG—

“To my wife,” Loghain said, raising a glass of wine.

“To _my_ wife,” Oghren echoed, grabbing his tankard.

“To Madie, that cute waitress at the Irate Nug,” Anders finished, downing a glass of Oghren’s homebrewed whisky. “So, what do we do while the Commander’s away?”

“Well, I’ve got a pregnant woman to get back to,” Oghren said. “So let’s get our debauchery out of the way first, yeah?”

—AOTG—

Daylen was whistling happily, having finally gotten some peace and quiet as he and Cupcake took a wagon full of dragonbone that had been stripped from the Wastes and from the fresh corpse they had left south to Denerim. The corpses of Utha and the Architect had been safely stashed away in the Avvar crypt they had found under the Keep, and Daylen was heading south to update Alistair on what had transpired.

Denerim looked far more like it had before the Archdemon’s attack, and after Daylen left the wagon with a handful of elven workers at the Warden compound in Denerim’s market, he headed to a familiar cart.

“Cesar,” Daylen greeted the merchant. “I need to see Ignacio.”

“Warden-Commander,” the man replied mildly. “What brings you back to Denerim?”

“Cesar, you can take me to Ignacio where I can yell at him in private, or I can start yelling here about the Antivan Crows and all of their associates that are trying to kill me,” Daylen said flatly.

Cesar paled. “I see. Well then, you can find him in the tavern, in the usual room.”

Daylen knocked on the door politely, and the door opened a few moments later as one of the Crows Ignacio kept on as bodyguards answered the door. The man didn’t get a word out before Daylen flooded the room with a mass paralysis spell, kicking the door open and knocking the Crow who had answered the door flat on his back.

“Ignacio,” Daylen said calmly. “I thought we had a deal. I did a bunch of work for you, cleaned up some of your messes, and you promised that the Crows wouldn’t accept any new contracts on me. Yet not two weeks ago, a group of Crows made an attempt on my life.” The paralysis spell wore off, and the bodyguards collapsed under sleep spells as Daylen cast again.

Ignacio, to his credit, was as serene as ever and hadn’t even reached for any of the weapons Daylen was sure he had on his person. “We didn’t accept any new contract. I would have been told.”

“Then how do you explain a group of assassins using Crow equipment, with Crow tattoos, identifying themselves as Antivan Crows, showing up in my arling and trying to off me?”

Ignacio stroked his chin. “That is an interesting turn of events, at that.”

“To say the least,” Daylen replied. “Look, let’s skip the word games here. What happened? We’ve done some good business together, but this attempt on my life makes this feel somewhat personal.”

Ignacio considered the question. “It may be possible that the old contract – the contract Taliesen and Zevran took on – might have been bought out by another person, and taken on by another cell. We would not accept a new contract, not after the last cell to take it on was destroyed, but another group of Crows might have liked their odds.”

Daylen grunted. “Wonderful. So every time enough Crows with more balls than brains decide they want to take a shot at me, I’m going to have to worry about this?”

Ignacio shook his head. “The House of Crows honors our contracts. But the contract has been accepted twice – I will _personally_ ensure that there will not be a third time. It will be removed from our archives.” He paused. “Do you know who hired them? It would take a substantial amount of coin to buy out the contract, and hire a second master when a first had failed already.”

“The conspirators have been dealt with,” Daylen replied. “I simply came here to ensure that our truce was still in place. I have no grudge against you, Ignacio, and truth be told I’d prefer you remain along the living. To that end, I hope you and I never have reason to cross paths in such a manner again.”

“As do I,” Ignacio agreed. “If we were, my life would become far more interesting than I would enjoy. I must apologize, however, for this offense. That a second cell would attempt to fulfill the contract, knowing that the hiring party was killed and the first cell was destroyed speaks to their greed and arrogance.”

Daylen waved it away. “Don’t blow smoke up my robes. Just make sure this doesn’t happen again. I’m tired of killing Crows. Waste of resources.” Bidding Ignacio farewell, he made his way to the Palace District, entering the royal palace with little fuss after several of the guards recognized him.

“His Majesty is meeting with the Teyrn of Highever, but there are standing orders to admit you at once,” the king’s valet – Bertrand or Bernard or Brandal, Daylen thought, trying to remember the man’s name – said, opening the door. “Your Majesty! The Warden-Commander has arrived!”

Daylen strode into the room. “Alistair, Elissa, good to see…” he paused as he saw a tall, fit man with a goatee speaking to Alistair. “Either Elissa has _really_ let herself go, or you’re her older brother. Fergus, was it?”

“Indeed,” the man replied after a moment. “And you must be Arl Amell.”

“Daylen. Or Warden-Commander, if you must.” Daylen extended a hand, remembering the few lessons on etiquette he had received. “I believe as the Teyrn of Highever, you’re my liege-lord. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Good to meet you as well, Commander,” Fergus said. “I understand you and King Alistair are acquainted with my sister?”

“We fought together during the Blight,” Alistair said. “Rather skilled with a blade.”

Fergus grinned proudly. “She always was a scrapper.”

“Elissa’s being given Gwaren,” Alistair explained. “She’s in Denerim at the moment, but I’ve been dealing with Fergus here on the rebuilding efforts across Highever and Denerim.”

“I look forward to discussing the recovery of Amaranthine,” Fergus remarked to Daylen.

Daylen raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard? Amaranthine is booming. That’s part of why I’m here. I didn’t mean to interrupt, however.”

Alistair nodded. “Give us a half hour to finish up, and then I’ll be free to speak with you.”

“This concerns Teyrn Fergus as well,” Daylen replied. “I’ll go cause some chaos.” Alistair groaned, and Daylen winked at him before leaving.

Daylen found Elissa speaking with Eamon in a study nearby. “Yes, but you must understand that there is hardly anything-” Elissa perked up as Daylen entered. “Daylen! Er…Warden-Commander!”

“Goodness, I just seem to be interrupting people today,” Daylen remarked, grinning widely. “Good to see you again, _Teyrna_ Cousland.”

Elissa’s face darkened. “If you can call that a teyrnir. Half of the south is a Blighted hole. At least there aren’t still darkspawn bands crawling all over it.”

Daylen stroked his beard. “As I recently found out, as long as the privies still work, you’ve got it made.” Elissa gave an unladylike snort of laughter, and Eamon shook his head in exasperation. “Arl Eamon, I am sorry to interrupt, I just arrived in Denerim and wanted to catch up.”

“We’re done here anyway,” Elissa said softly. “You here to speak with the king?”

Daylen nodded. “Met your brother, as well. I heard that he had survived Ostagar.”

Elissa beamed. “His unit was ambushed, and most of his men were killed. The Chasind took him in and nursed him back to health. It wasn’t until a week after the end of the Blight that he managed to pick his way north to Denerim.”

“Well, that’s good news at least.” Daylen sat down in the only empty chair in the room, looking at Eamon. “I must admit, I’m a little surprised to find you still here.”

“Denerim is growing on me,” Eamon admitted. “Actually, with my duties here as chancellor keeping me busy, I was considering stepping down as Arl of Redcliffe.” Daylen’s eyes widened. “My brother Teagan has proven very capable in my absence, and he would take over as Arl. He’s engaged, after all – apparently, a young woman named Kaitlyn who was at Redcliffe has opened a foundry here in Denerim, and the two are quite taken with each other. King Alistair wishes for me to take the Denerim arling.”

“Is there another candidate?” Daylen asked.

“Well, Teyrn Fergus suggested Bann Sighard’s son Oswyn. The two are childhood friends, and Fergus vouched for his character at length. Sighard has other children to inherit the Dragon’s Peak bannorn, so there would be no succession issues.” Eamon paused. “Personally, I think Oswyn would be more than capable as Arl of Denerim, but what King Alistair wants, King Alistair typically gets.”

“So, tell us what’s been going on in Amaranthine. I’ve heard all sorts of rumors. Are any true?” Elissa asked eagerly.

Daylen sighed. “Well, when I got there, the place was falling apart. Darkspawn bands were crawling all over the place, banditry and smuggling were choking the merchants out of the arling, and Vigil’s Keep was ready to collapse in on itself. When I got there, the Keep itself was under attack by darkspawn.” He ran through an abridged version of the events of the past few weeks, leaving out mention of Loghain and Jowan but otherwise filling in the two nobles. “So we’ve got a dozen reliable Wardens in the arling, more in training at Soldier’s Peak, a renovated keep, trade growing again at Amaranthine, and this is just a bonus, but we found a location with tons – literally – of dragonbone ready for use. I brought a wagonload with me to sell.

“I’m impressed,” Eamon remarked. “You turned the arling around completely in a matter of weeks.”

Daylen shook his head. “Well, I think that’s being generous. I’ve stopped the bleeding, but the arling will take time to heal. We’re on the road to recovery, however. The dwarven fortress we reclaimed will help.”

“That, I heard about,” Elissa said. “Kal’Hirol, wasn’t it?” Daylen nodded. “And with how stubborn the dwarves are about staying underground, they’ll let you create overland trade routes that’ll save them money in the long run and let Ferelden benefit from tax revenues. Highever, Amaranthine, Denerim, Gwaren, Redcliffe, even Kinloch Hold, all could benefit. And Fergus could use the help, apparently there’s been a great deal of piracy and banditry in the teyrnir and off the coast.”

“We’ve been using loaded wagons as lures,” Daylen suggested. “The bandits didn’t catch on nearly quick enough to stop us eliminating most of them. There are always going to be people who figure it's easier to take stuff from others than work for it themselves, but if he kits out some ships as if they're merchants rather than for battle and send them up and down the coast, he can use the same trick. Once their numbers are thinned a bit it will make the remaining pirates a little more wary about hitting genuine Fereldan merchants.”

“I’ll pass it on to him,” Elissa promised.

“I’m afraid not all the news is good, however,” Eamon interjected. “Apparently, the Revered Mother at Highever has been expelled by the new Teyrn.”

Daylen’s eyes widened. “I just had to threaten mine. What happened?”

Elissa grimaced. “Howe happened. Highever was stripped by Howe and his men, some of the treasures taken to Amaranthine or Denerim, others given to the Revered Mother as bribes to help solidify Howe’s hold over the city.”

Daylen groaned. “I believe it. The Chantry is probably enjoying that.”

“My parents were loved in Highever,” Elissa said bitterly. “There was rioting after he took over, so he bought legitimacy by buying off Revered Mother.”

“Won’t find me defending the Chantry,” Daylen replied. “And to think, compared to that festering pit in Orlais, the Fereldan Chantry is hardly corrupt. Didn’t the head of the Templar order murder the High Seeker in the Grand Cathedral?”

“They attempted to hush it up – badly – but yes,” Eamon said. “But it accomplishes little when the Chantry refuses to entertain the idea that they were at fault. Fergus risks further unrest by demanding they be replaced, although he is right to do so.”

There was a knock at the door. “My lords and lady,” a messenger said, “please excuse the interruption, but His Majesty sends his compliments and requests your presence.”

A few minutes later, all five were assembled in Alistair’s study. “Good to see you again, Elissa,” Alistair said softly.

Elissa’s cheeks pinked slightly. “You as well, Your Majesty.” Fergus’s eyes narrowed at his sister, and Eamon shot Daylen a knowing look. The Warden-Commander quickly swallowed his grin when Alistair looked his way.

“For the time being, I move we dispense with the formalities,” Alistair said. “We’re all here as Blight veterans.”

“Sounds good to me,” Daylen muttered, well aware he was the lowest-ranking person in the room. “Before we get into it, Elissa, Fergus, you two are welcome at Vigil’s Keep any time. And if we should come across anything that looks like it belongs in Highever or to the Cousland family, we’ll return it immediately.”

“I appreciate that,” Fergus replied. “Highever House was stripped of almost anything valuable. Now, Daylen, you said you had news?”

“Right,” Daylen replied, clearing his throat. “I’ve already spoken to Eamon and Elissa about this, so I’ll try to be brief. When I arrived in Amaranthine, the Keep was under attack by darkspawn, who had entered through a Deep Roads entrance in the basement. They ambushed the Orlesian Grey Wardens there, killing most of them and taking the rest prisoner. They were led by a talking darkspawn, one with intelligence on the level of any of us. I killed it, of course, but the fact that one could talk and think for itself was enough to send me ringing every alarm bell I could. Over the last few weeks, I’ve been recruiting, piecing the arling back together, and hunting down the darkspawn that fled into that area. And within the last few days, I’ve made some big, _big_ discoveries.”

“I assume this is why you felt it necessary to come here in person,” Alistair prodded.

“Well, that and I missed your charming disposition, but yes,” Daylen replied.

“Well, some of us got it, and some don’t,” Alistair sniffed.

Daylen chuckled. “It turns out that there was a frighteningly intelligent darkspawn emissary on the loose that called itself the Architect. I sent reports to the Wardens in other countries once I heard the name, but nothing came back before I left for Denerim, so I was working in the dark. This Architect claimed to want to free the darkspawn from the call of the Old Gods that drives them to dig them up and turn them into Archdemons. Doing so would end the Blights forever, ostensibly, but that would also mean we would have untold numbers of intelligent darkspawn running about. It performed its ritual on a broodmother – that’s a creature that spawns more darkspawn, and please don’t ask me how they’re made – and this Mother, as she called herself, turned against him and took a large portion of the darkspawn he had ‘freed’ with her. Through a lot of detective work and a few lucky breaks, we tracked them down to a location out on the Feravel Plains called the Dragonbone Wastes. We killed them both, and I recovered the corpse of the Architect for examination by the other Wardens.” Daylen paused. “And in doing so, we’ve avenged every person who died during the Blight. Turns out, the Architect attempted his little ritual on Urthemiel.” Eamon and the Couslands gasped. “I guess the fool was trying to stop the call at its source, but all he did was corrupt it into an Archdemon.”

The messenger burst into the room. “Your Majesty! Forgive the interruption! An envoy from the Grey Wardens!”

“But I’m right here,” Daylen protested.

“He means me,” a female elf replied dryly, sliding past the man. “Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty, but I’ve been chasing the Warden-Commander here now for days.”

Daylen stared at her. “You have?”

“From Amaranthine to Vigil’s Keep to here,” the woman said. “Senior Warden Fiona, formerly of the Circle of Magi.”

Daylen’s palm met his forehead with a loud smack. “And I suppose you’re here to talk to me about the Architect.”

“Indeed. The existence of that creature is a highly guarded secret, and hunting it down has been my focus for the last twenty years.”

Daylen paused. “Wait, twenty years…” he thought back to the Architect’s notes and journals. “You were part of the expedition with Maric, weren’t you?”

Fiona paused, her eyes flicking momentarily to Alistair. “You are familiar with it?”

“I read through the Architect’s journals,” Daylen replied. “Please, have a seat. I was just detailing my encounters with it.” Fiona blanched. “I realize your hesitation but at this point secrecy is moot.”

“Very well,” Fiona said icily. Daylen looked her over as she sat down in his recently vacated chair. She appeared young, despite clearly having been a Warden for over two decades, although her eyes were hard, and held a history of pain and suffering. “I was sent to brief you on the Architect, but clearly you are already familiar with this being.”

“Familiar is a rather strong word,” Daylen replied. “Well, I dislike repeating myself, so let me be brief, and we can discuss this at length later. The Architect wanted to end the Blights by freeing the darkspawn from the call of the Old Gods, using Grey Warden blood. His experiments backfired and nearly got everyone in Amaranthine killed. He also tried it on an Old God, but you all know how _that_ one ended.”

“Yeah, with us fighting an Archdemon less than a mile from where we’re sitting,” Alistair groused.

“Right. Well, Fiona, you most likely passed the later reports I sent on your way to Amaranthine, and then down here to Denerim. The Architect also made more intelligent darkspawn, and we’re not sure we’ve rounded them all up. We’ve killed a dozen so far, not all of whom were loyal to the Architect. We spent most of the last few weeks tracking the two faction leaders – the Architect, of course, and a broodmother he had performed his ritual on who called herself the Mother. We got lucky, and found both in the same location less than a week ago, but we _also_ had an encounter with the Architect before that.”

Fiona paled. “What happened.”

“There's a place in Amaranthine called the Wending Wood. A Dalish mage whose sister had been kidnapped by the Architect’s darkspawn was attacking caravans under the assumption that humans had done it. I talked her down, recruited her, and we entered the silverite mines that were in the area. Maybe a dozen paces in, we walked into a trap. Glyphs at a level of intricacy and power I’d never seen before.”

Fiona nodded. “Sounds like the Architect’s tactics.”

“I’m not entirely sure how long I was out,” Daylen admitted. “When I woke up, my Wardens and I were naked in a cell together.”

“Sounds familiar,” Alistair quipped.

Daylen snickered. “The creature had taken a great deal of my blood, as well. Apparently Grey Warden blood was involved with its ritual. We escaped, got the mage’s sister back, and fought our way out of the mines, rescuing one of the captured Grey Wardens as well. He was the only survivor. The Architect set a couple dragons on us to cover its escape.” Daylen paused. “That expedition you were on, did you have a dwarven companion? Named Utha?” Fiona nodded silently, her mouth slightly open. “Well, Utha had joined up with the Architect. We cleaned out the mines – took his laboratory equipment, his notes, everything that wasn’t nailed down. It’s all at Soldier’s Peak now.” Daylen paused. “I’m not sure how he found the location of the Old Gods, but I’m guessing that’s related to that expedition as well.”

“Warden-Commander Bregan divulged the information on his Calling, to the Architect,” Fiona said. “I do not know why. But as a result, that information is a secret restricted to the First Warden and a select handful of others.”

Daylen nodded. “Makes sense. Even if we could _get_ to the Old Gods through the millions of darkspawn down there, I don’t know if we could strike the killing blow when the creature’s call would be strongest. And if more Wardens know it, then the darkspawn can find out. The Architect had notes on the locations.” Fiona blanched. “I destroyed them immediately,” Daylen added, and the elf breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve got enough problems without trying to eliminate another Old God or two in my spare time.”

“What’s this expedition you keep talking about?” Alistair asked. The three nobles had been watching in fascinated silence.

“Twenty years ago, when I had been a Warden for less than a year, several companions and I ventured into the Deep Roads to rescue Warden-Commander Bregan,” Fiona explained. “Maric, Duncan, and I were the only ones to make it out alive.”

Alistair’s eyes widened. “You knew Duncan?”

“He was my best friend,” Fiona said softly.

Alistair nodded. “He recruited the both of us. He was like a father to me. Recruited me from the Templars, and looked after me while I was in the Wardens.”

Daylen was watching Fiona, and spotted a quick flash of pain in her eyes. The Warden-Commander eyed her a moment longer, before glancing back to Alistair. “Anyway, when we finally found the Architect, he tried to talk us into forming an alliance against the Mother. We killed him, then the Mother.”

“You _killed_ the Architect?” Fiona asked incredulously.

“I sure hope I did,” Daylen replied casually. “I beat his head into pulp with my own fists. If he survived that, we’ve got serious problems. The corpse is at Vigil’s Keep, along with Utha’s.”

Fiona stared at him, blinking owlishly as she processed that. “You killed the Architect.” She repeated the sentence, clearly not understanding it.

Daylen nodded. “He had a stupid-looking hat, you see. I take fashion, especially hats, quite seriously. After all, you should never underestimate the value of a nice hat.”

Fiona shook herself. “A dozen Wardens with a few years of experience between them eliminated one of the most dangerous creatures in existence?”

Daylen shrugged. “Counting me, there were eleven Wardens, all of whom had taken an alchemical boosting potion invented at Soldier’s Peak, against the Architect and Utha. We had weapons that kings would sell their crowns to get, and frankly, I don’t think he expected us to turn on him.”

Fiona was clearly still having trouble believing it. “I would need to see the corpse, of course. The most experienced active Warden in Ferelden only had two years of experience, that you could kill the Architect…”

“Actually, there’s a nutty blood mage up at Soldier’s Peak who’s been kicking around for about two hundred years,” Daylen said. “He’s the most experienced active Warden.”

Fiona stared at him. “Could I trouble someone for a drink?”

Fergus quickly poured her a few fingers of brandy, and Fiona downed the alcohol, looking dazed. “So, tell me something, Fiona,” Daylen commented. “When were you going to tell Alistair the truth?”

Fiona swallowed nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You knew him by sight, had a personal connection to his father, and were the only female present nine months prior to his birth who survived,” Daylen surmised. “I may be a bit dense at times, but I can do math.”

Alistair’s face clouded as he looked at Daylen in confusion, before he blanched. “You mean, she’s…”

“Quite possibly your mother,” Daylen finished. “So congratulations, you were born to be a Warden. And a King. And you’re half-elf, if my suspicions are correct.”

Fiona was looking down at her hands, which were neatly folded in her lap. “Fiona?” Alistair whispered. The woman looked up, her eyes shining with tears. “ _Mother_?”

“I made Maric promise that you would be told that your mother was a human and died,” she rasped. “I…I never intended for you to find out.”

“And I am quite sure that I heard absolutely nothing in the last five minutes,” Eamon said firmly, standing up.

“Me neither,” Fergus agreed, heading for the door. “Come on, Elissa, we’ve got things to do.” He paused at the door. “Elissa!”

The woman perked up. “Hm? Oh, I’m sorry, my ears were ringing something awful. Were we still talking?” She followed the other two to the door. “We’ll just run along.” She pointed at Alistair and Fiona, frantically pantomiming talking and pointing to herself. Daylen winked at her, and she shut the door behind them with a click.

“Daylen, can you secure the room?” Alistair asked. Daylen waved a hand at the doorways and windows, glittering barriers appearing over them.

“Nobody can hear, see, or enter,” Daylen replied. “You can speak freely.”

Alistair rounded on the elf immediately. “Tell me the truth. Are you my mother?” Fiona nodded tearfully, yelping a moment later as Alistair wrapped her in a tight hug.

Slowly, hesitantly, Fiona wrapped her arms around her son. “You remind me of him so very much,” she said softly.

“Duncan, or Maric?” Alistair asked.

“Both,” Fiona blurted out. “You look so much like your father, and you have his humor, but I see the strength in you I did in Duncan.” She tenderly stroked his face, both of them crying openly. “My son. My _son_.” She wrapped him in a tight hug. “I am so proud of the man you’ve become.”

“I have a mother,” Alistair mumbled.

“And nobody outside this room can ever know,” Daylen said firmly. “This information is dangerous. Your being the descendant of a mage, and an elven, Orlesian mage at that, could seriously damage your claim to the throne. Not to mention the claims of any future children you might have. Someone finds out about this, they could blindside you with this and cause you all sorts of problems.” He shrugged. “That said, I’m just glad I was right. Maker knows I would like to see my mother again.”

“Nobody else knows,” Fiona mumbled into Alistair’s embrace.

“I’ll give you two some time,” Daylen said, dropping the barrier over the door just long enough to leave through it.

—AOTG—

“What’s going on in there?” Elissa hissed as Daylen found the others a few minutes later.

“Not my place to say,” Daylen said firmly. “Fergus, there are a few things I need to talk to you about.”

“Me as Fergus, or me as Teyrn Cousland?”

“You as Teyrn Cousland,” Daylen replied. “And me as Arl Amell _and_ Warden-Commander Amell.”

“Use my study,” Eamon offered. “Elissa, there’s something else I wish to discuss with you, anyway.”

The two sat down in Eamon’s study, silence falling momentarily. “All right,” Daylen began slowly. “First of all, I want you to know that Highever will always have the Wardens’ loyalty, inside or outside of Amaranthine. That said, in the interest of transparency, you should know that I am not only in charge of an arling in your demesne, but also a fortress. You’ve heard me mention Soldier’s Peak. It’s in the mountains along the coastline, and fair warning, there are things going on there that you, as an Andrastian, would probably not approve of.”

Fergus crossed his arms. “Such as?”

“Research into the darkspawn taint, research which Grey Wardens use to fight darkspawn and demons more effectively. It borders on blood magic. There is an incredibly powerful and very old maleficar up there –that’s the Avernus that Alistair mentioned – who is in charge of the research. There also was another blood mage there, but he’s currently at Vigil’s Keep.” Daylen paused. “Now, Wardens are permitted to use Blood Magic to fight darkspawn, but this man is…rather notorious.” Fergus was staring him down. “You remember Jowan, who poisoned Arl Eamon?”

Fergus’s eyes bugged out. “You recruited him?”

“Well, technically I helped him escape Chantry justice two or three times, _then_ recruited him, but yes,” Daylen admitted.

Fergus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is there anything else?”

“Well,” Daylen said. “There are a few things in Amaranthine you should know about. First of all, my second-in-command is Nathaniel Howe.”

Fergus’s jaw dropped. “Nathaniel is alive?”

“He was in the Marches during the Blight, and when he found out his father was dead, he came looking to kill me,” Daylen explained. “He changed his mind, but got caught by the Wardens at the Keep before I got there. It took four of them to take him, and when I spoke to him, I found that I didn’t have any reason to kill him. I set him loose.” Fergus grunted noncommittally. “He tracked us down later and helped us out, then asked me to recruit him into the Wardens. He’s conducted himself with honor since then.”

“I must admit, I am…biased, against the Howes at this point,” Fergus said slowly. “But I remember Nathaniel from my childhood. He was a good boy.”

Daylen nodded. “Your bias against them is understandable. But please understand that Rendon Howe’s actions were not those of his family. His daughter lives as well, married to a merchant in Amaranthine. I’m considering making her the Bann, now that Esmerelle is dead after she attempted a coup.”

“I hope you have all this in some sort of report,” Fergus said in exasperation.

Daylen shrugged. “It’s been an eventful few weeks.”

—AOTG—

It was hours later that Eamon, Alistair, and Daylen reconvened, Alistair’s eyes suspiciously red. “So, as I understand it, the plan is for Fiona to accompany me on the recruiting tour I’m taking, before we visit Soldier’s Peak and Vigil’s Keep?” Alistair nodded. “Excellent. Maybe we’ll be as lucky as I have been over the past year or so.”

“Lucky?” Alistair echoed. “You do remember how things went during the Blight, don’t you?”

"That’s exactly my point," Daylen said, scratching his chin. "The Wardens had been in Ferelden for twenty years, and there were only two dozen Wardens before Ostagar? With well-disposed kings?"

"What are you saying?"

"That that's one thing we don’t need to blame on Loghain. Duncan's recruiting was rather low-level. Beyond trying to remain neutral and not step on any toes, nothing was stopping him from recruiting heavily, or requesting transfers from all over Thedas. I've made some discreet inquiries. Seems like most heads of state are privy to the some of our important secrets. Cailan didn't know how an Archdemon is killed. That was critical information in planning the Battle of Ostagar. Cailan needed to know it, and Loghain needed to know it. But Duncan kept that a secret. I don't mean to talk poorly of the man, far from it. But he erred on the side of secrecy and neutrality and we all almost _died_ because of it. Honestly, we're lucky the Archdemon was so staggeringly incompetent."

"What do you mean?" Eamon asked.

"Assuming that we didn't also have a massive amount of darkspawn that we haven’t heard about surfacing in, say, Nevarra, or Rivain, or anywhere that's not Ferelden," Daylen explained, "there's a very simple question that I'm having trouble answering. ‘Why aren't we dead?’ Look, it's been four hundred years since the last Blight. Sure, so many were killed during the Fourth Blight that people thought they had been defeated forever, but they've had that long to rebuild their numbers, and we know darkspawn don't die on their own. We have to help them along. So that's Maker only knows how many broodmothers, producing who knows how many darkspawn a year, for _four hundred years_. Not counting the women that were abducted and turned during the odd darkspawn raid in the intervening years. Even if there were only a dozen broodmothers in existence at the end of the last Blight, why did Urthemiel not bring a million darkspawn to the surface? All our estimates show that the Archdemon brought ten or twenty thousand darkspawn, total. Even with the Legion holding the line against the between Blights, that's drastically smaller numbers than we should have been facing."

Alistair paled. “So that means there are a whole lot of darkspawn out there somewhere. And that we don't know where they are, what they're doing, or why they didn't try to kill us.”

Daylen nodded. “Now, does that scare you as much as it does me?"

Alistair leaned his head back, thinking. "It's possible they were digging for the next Old God."

"There's a thought," Daylen mused. "Two Archdemons leading a Blight would have been far more difficult to finish off. They could have caught Thedas in a pincer."

"That's probably not a problem we'll have to face," Alistair replied. "Thankfully. We probably have bigger problems."

"Those being?"

"The Qunari, for one," Alistair said.

Daylen blanched. "They haven't made a move, have they?"

"No, nothing major that anyone's talking about," Alistair said. "That said, there's a contingent of them in Kirkwall. Within the city walls."

Daylen sprayed a mouthful of wine across the desk. " _What_?"

"Easy," Alistair said soothingly. "They're supposedly shipwrecked. No armor, minimal supplies, confined to a single warehouse in the docks. Rather subtle for an invasion. And from what we've seen of Sten, the Qunari don't do anything subtle." The king scowled. "Make no mistake, Daylen, Sten was here for more than one reason."

"Agreed," the Warden said, wiping his mouth. "Investigating the Blight was a perfect cover story for pre-invasion reconnaissance. But what were we going to do? Execute him as a spy without real proof?"

"Perhaps we should have," Alistair admitted.

Daylen blinked in surprise, leaning back in his chair. "That's pretty cold-blooded, considering he helped us."

"I know," Alistair said. "But we're facing the possibility of an invasion by a force we can't hope to match."

"Are we?" Daylen challenged.

"Aren't we?" Alistair shot back.

Daylen sighed. "Look, the Qunari have been fighting the Tevinters for what, two hundred years? The Tevinters, the remnant of a faded empire sustaining itself on slaving, blood magic, and past glories."

Alistair leaned back in the chair, a smile flitting across his face as the two fell back into an intellectual exercise. "They seem to be tying each other up pretty well."

"Yes, but from all the reports, they've been fighting the Qunari over Seheron all this time and neither side is any closer to controlling it than they were twenty years ago. Ferelden, as it is, couldn't hold them off if they decided to stop fighting each other and attack us directly. But I don't see the Qunari invading us any time soon. The Tevinters either. Their activities in the Denerim Alienage proved that they aren't above slaving in our territory, but a military invasion? Not so much. Not nearly enough payoff for the investment."

"They're not the only threat," Alistair pointed out.

"I don't deny that Orlais would invade Ferelden and try to take over if they could. But Celene's not that hungry to take back Ferelden. A successor might try to make a name for himself by reclaiming the ‘barbarian lands’ to the east, but as long as she’s on the throne I think she'll only make subtle attempts to weaken Ferelden."

"You've been keeping an eye on them, haven't you," Alistair asked.

Daylen shrugged. "Not really, but Eamon and I talked quite a bit after the Blight.” Eamon smiled faintly, watching the two discuss the issue. “I learned the players. The Wardens may be neutrals, but I made a promise to watch out for you."

Alistair smiled warmly. "Thanks, mate. What's the word on the darkspawn?"

"I believe that the darkspawn are a spent force for now, despite the discrepancy in their numbers. We didn't kill nearly as many as they did in previous Blights, but I've got plans for Wardens to start staging raids through Deep Roads entrances all over Ferelden, hitting the darkspawn hard and destroying broodmothers. Taking the fight to them and all that."

“And making a thorough map of the entrances and Deep Roads in the process,” Alistair noted.

"Be a useful bargaining chip with Bhelen," Daylen pointed out. "I'll have a copy made for you. Until an Archdemon arises, we – well, _you_ – don't have to worry about the darkspawn. Ferelden should be safe from that direction in our lifetimes. Frankly, the Qunari are the greatest military threat, I think. But they're not an invasion-level threat. Fortify Denerim, Highever, and Amaranthine, and Gwaren, if you must. They'd have to land a fleet, and that would mean hitting us at a port city. But the bigger threat, for the time being? Spies. Orlesian, Tevinter, and Qunari spies. The Qunari would want us as a landing point for an invasion of Orlais. Nobody in their right mind would invade us in force now. Sure, we're weakened from the Blight. But not as many people as you would think know that. Everyone saw us – Ferelden – end a Blight _alone_ inside a year, after a disastrous defeat at Ostagar. We made a strong statement there, Alistair. Now, Orlais would certainly like to weaken us, the Qunari would, and Tevinter sees us as an easy source of slaves with all our refugees scattered across Thedas." He paused. "However."

"There's more?" Alistair asked.

"Yes. However, there's another threat. This may be my background as a mage talking, but I honestly believe that the greatest danger to the security of Ferelden is the Chantry. They're Orlesian-controlled. The Chantry is in their capital and in their pocket. The Revered Mothers across Ferelden report back to the Divine, and I guarantee you they aren't just passing on reports on who's giving what tithes. Even if it wasn't, they're a foreign power, zealous and aggressive and _awfully_ tetchy about people infringing on what they see as their turf. They tolerate Clarel, the Orlesian Warden-Commander. She's a good little Chantry stooge, however. Doesn't recruit much in the Circle, reports apostates when she sees them, and keeps quiet about everything else. To them, I'm a threat, and you're a threat. I'm proof that mages aren't just waiting to reinstate Tevinter control. The Chantry loves to stir up fear of mages, but that's their party line. Yes, an individual rogue mage is dangerous. Nobody's questioning that. An abomination is even more dangerous. But not nearly as dangerous as say, a company of heavily armed and armored zealots who happen to be addicted to a substance whose supply the Chantry controls. And there's at least a company of those in every major city in Ferelden. They like to scare up fear of blood magic, but it takes a _lot_ of skill to influence someone subtly using blood magic. More skill than maybe a handful of blood mages outside of Tevinter have. There's no secret conspiracy among mages where at the first opportunity we're going to make ourselves magisters of Ferelden and start sacrificing people for sport. Much as the Chantry would like to have the public think so."

"Daylen, do you have a point with this?" Alistair asked.

Daylen paused, realizing he was partway through a tirade on Chantry politics, and cleared his throat. "Sorry. The point is that the Chantry is an organized threat. They're not loyal to Ferelden, they're loyal to themselves first, Orlais second. The Templars are a genuine army – an army of addicts no less. It's not like they and the Chantry haven't mucked about in politics before. You know that the Revered Mother at Ostagar interfered with the planning of the battle. Worse, the current Knight-Commander in Kirkwall, Meredith? She _killed_ the previous Viscount. And then blatantly threatened the new one. On orders of the Divine, at that. Why? _Because he was charging Orlesian ships more than others_. Would the people of Ferelden lie down and take it if Greagoir killed you to strengthen the power of the Chantry, or to save Orlais some coin?"

"I should hope not," Alistair said mildly.

Daylen pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not saying I hate the Chantry, or the Circle. I don't even hate the Grand Cleric, though I think she did precisely nothing to help or defend Ferelden when it most needed what political power she's managed to amass. It was just business as usual for the Chantry, shaking down refugees for tithes and sending Templars after hedge mages and scared children while the darkspawn were crawling up Ferelden's arse. The last thing I need is her telling me what any of us should be doing. Not like she's loyal to Ferelden, anyway."

"You've mentioned that a few times now," Alistair said. "Besides their location, what makes you think that?"

"The Chantry has no loyalty to Ferelden, at all," Daylen repeated. "They're loyal to themselves first, then Orlais. That's where their loyalties stop." Eamon winced, but Alistair looked confused. "All right, history lesson – and please, Eamon, check me on this, I'd rather get all the facts right. The name Mother Bronach mean anything to you?" Alistair shook his head, but Eamon scowled at the name. "She was Revered Mother back during the rebellion. Supported Meghren, the Orlesian occupier king, in just about all of the atrocities he supported or committed against the people of Ferelden. Of course, eventually she abandoned him, fled the country, and disappeared from the public eye, but..."

"But the Chantry leaders had gladly obeyed the dictates of the Divine in Val Royeaux, and had done everything in their power to maintain the Orlesian hegemony," Eamon interjected. "They may claim to do the Maker's will, but never forget that the Chantry is not loyal to Ferelden in any way. They see anything they or the templars do as justified, because it's for 'the good of Ferelden,' or 'the Maker's will.' How do they know it's the Maker's will? Well, because it's them doing it, and they certainly wouldn't do anything that isn't the Maker's will or for the spiritual good of Ferelden!"

"There's nothing more dangerous than someone convinced he's doing the right thing," Alistair said, echoing Daylen's words from long ago.

"Exactly."

—AOTG—

"Keeper Lanaya," Daylen said warmly, extending a hand. “You’re a hard woman to find.” Daylen, Fiona, and Cupcake had located the Dalish clan after two solid weeks of searching through the northeastern Brecelian Forest.

"Warden," Lanaya replied crisply, shaking his hand. "It is good to see you again."

“This is Fiona, a Grey Warden. She is accompanying me on something of a recruiting trip, but that’s only part of why I’m here.” Lanaya raised an eyebrow. “I feel that the Wardens have asked enough of the Dalish for the time being, so I won’t be hunting for recruits here. How is the clan?"

Lanaya’s face fell. "We suffered great losses during the Battle of Denerim," she said. "We had already lost many of our hunters during our...difficulties."

Daylen nodded somberly. "Keeper, Ferelden owes the Dalish a debt it may never be able to repay. Their conduct during the Battle of Denerim was nothing short of heroic. The Grey Wardens stand ready to assist the Dalish as they assisted us. The land our king deeded to the Dalish aside, there is room in the arling of Amaranthine for any Dalish who see fit to settle there."

"Thank you, Warden, but we will manage," Lanaya replied.

Daylen nodded. "In that case, I don't suppose I could ask a favor?" Lanaya nodded, and Daylen continued. "I have been tasked with rebuilding the Ferelden Wardens. I realize your clan does not have the manpower to spare, especially with the additional losses of the hunters who contracted Blight sickness. But are there other clans in Ferelden we could reach out to?"

Lanaya tilted her head back, giving Daylen a wary look. "Warden, you are a friend to our clan, but you ask much. Our clans do not communicate often, and we often keep our locations secret."

"I am aware, and I mean no offense,” Daylen said. "But the skill of Dalish hunters is unparalleled. The Wardens need all the help we can get.”

Lanaya sighed. "Very well, Warden. We have approximate locations on three clans that I believe would be able to help you. Clans Sabrae, Ralaferin, and Lavellan."

“Any other clans that may be in Ferelden?”

Lanaya hesitated. "Well...there _is_ another clan."

"You seem somewhat hesitant about them," Daylen remarked.

"Warden, once a decade or so, all the Dalish clans meet to exchange lore and knowledge. We call it the Arlathvhen. Almost all clans are invited."

"Almost?" Daylen echoed.

"We are nomadic by nature, Warden, not all of our clans can travel the distance necessary in time while avoiding human settlements. But there are a few clans who are not necessarily told the location of the next Arlathvhen. Some because they have lost their way amongst our culture, or have grown too close to the humans. Others because their members hold attitudes that are not necessarily…desirable at an Arlathvhen, so close to our young ones. One of these is clan Hazzarion. We have their approximate location, as they have remained in Ferelden since what you know as the Blessed Age. I would suggest searching for the others. Hazzarion may not be able to help you."

"I would contact all of them, if possible," Daylen said.

Lanaya shrugged. "Your decision."

—AOTG—

“Hi y’all!” The elf sentry called. Daylen stopped short, staring at the elf. The sentry had what appeared to be a total of three teeth in his head, and was displaying all of them in a wide grin. “Welcome to Hazzarion! Stay a while an’ have a drink!” He spat some unidentifiable brown fluid onto the dirt near Daylen’s boots, and the Warden-Commander shared a glance with Fiona before they slowly proceeded into the Dalish camp.

It was a far cry from Lanaya’s clan, Daylen thought as he spotted Dalish elves speaking to each other in thick, almost unintelligible accents through missing teeth. The odd pig or goat was walking loose among the elves, and Daylen was sure that he heard an odd twanging that sounded harsher than the lutes he had heard in the past. “Have a seat!” The sentry said, pointing at a felled tree where several other elves sat, spooning food into their mouths. “We’ll bring y’all somethin’ t’eat.”

The wind shifted as the two sat down, and Fiona visibly recoiled as a wave of stench hit her. Cupcake whined, pawing at his own face. “Sweet Maker, what _is_ that?”

Daylen didn’t respond immediately, blinking hard. “I don’t know,” he finally said, “but it’s curling my nose hairs.” An elf nearby stood up halfway and passed gas with gusto, and Daylen shuddered. “Mystery solved.”

“Oh, welcome,” another elf said. “Have a drink!” He thrust a jug into Daylen’s hand, watching expectantly.

Daylen gingerly took a sip, his eyes watering as he swallowed hard. “Not bad,” he rasped, coughing. “There’s something stuck in my throat.” He cleared his throat. “I think it’s my throat. What’s in this?” He passed the jug off to Fiona, and the elf sniffed it gingerly, before closing her eyes, visibly steeling herself, and taking a drink.[1]

“Apples and goat urine, I should think,” Fiona replied after a moment, scraping her tongue against her teeth.

An elf sprinted up to the fire. “Bo and Luke are getting ready to do the jump!”

“Y’all’ll want to see this,” the moonshining elf said to Daylen. “Come on now!”

A few minutes later, Daylen and Fiona were watching a pair of Dalish elves sitting at the reins of an aravel, a pair of distressed-looking halla in front. Daylen leaned forward, seeing the road abruptly ending in a dirt ramp over a deep canyon.

“Are you as confused as me?” Fiona asked quietly.

“More, I think,” Daylen replied. “What is…” the two elves snapped the reins, and the aravel took off in a cloud of dust. "You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“I don’t believe it,” Fiona breathed as the aravel sped towards the ramp.

“All right," Daylen said, watching as the aravel jumped the canyon, the drivers hollering at the top of their lungs. Cupcake tilted his head in confusion, before glancing up at Daylen. "I think understand why Lanaya was hesitant about this clan."

"Should we just...leave?" Fiona asked.

Daylen nodded. "Let's leave...and never mention this little venture again. Ever."

—AOTG—

Cutting across the Bannorn added relative discomfort to their trip, but allowed them to save days of travel that sticking to the old Imperial Highway would have demanded. Fiona and Daylen had passed the time discussing magical theory, the ramifications of the Architect’s plans, and the worrying implications of intelligent darkspawn still being about.

Daylen had been fascinated by the story of Fiona’s previous experience with the Architect and the effects it had had upon the Taint in her body – by all accounts, she had had the Taint purged from her entirely, and seemed entirely resistant to the Joining. Unfortunately, the method proved impossible to replicate without the Architect, who was in no position to pass on information on the subject.

Even in the relative privacy of the open country, the two were hesitant to discuss the relationship Daylen had dragged into the light back in Denerim.

By the time the two reached Kinloch Hold, most of the initial awkwardness had passed, and night was falling as they descended the hill to the ferry’s dock. A Templar was waiting next to the ferry, his helmet slightly askew and a rattling snore barely audible through the metal. “What a diligent guard,” Fiona remarked quietly as they examined the sleeping man.

“One day I have got to learn how they manage to sleep standing up,” Daylen murmured. “Come on, Kester’s probably in the inn.” Sure enough, Kester was in the Spoiled Princess, a mostly-empty tankard in front of him. “Kester! How’s the boat?”

“Ah, Warden – Warden- _Commander_!” Kester said warmly. “Good to see you making a name for yourself. Templars finally gave me back my boat. You headed back to the tower?”

“Recruiting,” Daylen replied. “This is Fiona, another Grey Warden. She’s a mage as well, Orlesian.”

“All that and brains too, eh?” Kester mused, ogling her. Fiona’s mouth tightened slightly, and Daylen gave the man a pointed shake of his head. “Well then, let me just finish my drink,” he lifted the tankard to his lips, swallowing down the last of his beer, “and we can go. Alec! I’ll be back in a bit.” The barman waved, and a few moments later they were crossing the dock.

The Templar snorted and roused himself as he felt the dock shake under his feet. “Eh? What’s up?”

“Heading to the tower,” Kester called. “Be back in a bit.”

“Oi, now, you can’t just let anyone in,” the Templar protested.

“We’re Grey Wardens, former Circle mages, and in a hurry,” Daylen replied. “The robes don’t give it away?”

“I s’pose,” the Templar mumbled. “You’ll have to clear with the Knight-Commander, though.”

Daylen nodded as the man took the easiest option and passed the buck. “Right. We’ll definitely make sure not to do that. Have a nice night.” They were halfway across the lake before an annoyed ‘hey!’ reached their ears. Cupcake snuffled in what passed for a canine laugh, and even Fiona allowed a smile as Kester rowed the boat towards the tower. “Maker, I hate this place,” Daylen muttered as they bumped up against the dock.

“I can imagine,” Fiona replied as they stepped out of the boat, Kester waving goodbye as he began rowing back towards the shore. “The Circle at Montsimmard was…not pleasant.”

“No, I can’t imagine it would be for a female elf,” Daylen said. “It was rough enough for a male human here. But I’m talking about the uprising.” Fiona looked over in confusion as they strode up the dirt road from the dock to the tower. “After the Battle of Ostagar, the head of the local Libertarians tried to get the Circle to throw its support behind Loghain in exchange for freedom from the Chantry. When the First Enchanter refused, he and a bunch of other blood mages attacked, and the Circle here was practically destroyed.”

“I had heard news of the Right of Annulment, but I heard it was called off,” Fiona replied.

“It was called off because my companions and I went through the tower and killed every demon and abomination and blood mage in the place,” Daylen said bitterly. “The Knight-Commander didn’t even try to save any mages. He pulled his men back, locked the main doors, and left all the mages inside to fend for themselves. If Wynne and a handful of other mages hadn’t gotten very lucky, everyone inside would have died, down to the youngest apprentices.”

“You killed all the abominations and demons yourselves?” Fiona asked.

“We had three powerful mages and a Dalish mage-killer spell on our side,” Daylen explained. “But it wasn’t easy, and I still occasionally have nightmares about it.”

“Yet you’re coming back, willingly,” she said.

“Because the Wardens need mages,” Daylen pressed. “The only two skilled healers we have on hand are Anders and myself. Velanna is good, but her skills lie in nature magic and primal magic.”

“State your business,” the Templar at the door said gruffly as they approached.

“Grey Wardens,” Daylen said. “Here on recruiting mission.”

The Templar stiffened slightly. “Grey Wardens? Here?”

“Yeah, now open up. We need to talk to Irving.”

“The First Enchanter may not be available,” the Templar said dubiously. “They were conducting a Harrowing tonight.”

“I’m sure the Templars can wait to throw a mage to demons for another day,” Daylen snapped as the door opened. “If nothing else, we could use a hot meal.”

The door shut behind them, and Daylen rolled his shoulders, fighting the urge to shiver. “Let’s get this over with.” Fiona kept close behind him, the Warden-Commander’s relative bulk serving to hide her from the stares of several Templars stationed around the entrance hall. “First things first,” he said. “Let’s pop in on the apprentices.”

“You’re not going to recruit them,” Fiona protested.

“No, I’m not,” Daylen said soothingly. “I’m just going to visit them. One, in particular.” They entered the male apprentices’ dormitory, both Wardens smirking at the scuffling noise of a tryst suddenly breaking up. “Sorry to interrupt,” Daylen said, “but does anyone know where Connor Guerrin is? I’ve got a message from his father.”

“He’s in the library,” one of the red-faced boys said.

“Thank you. Carry on.” Daylen winked at him as they headed towards the library.

“I see the Circle hasn’t changed all that much,” Fiona quipped as they circled around to the library.

“I’m a little surprised that they were out in the open like that, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been where they were,” Daylen replied.

The library was practically empty, beyond a handful of apprentices studying and a few Templars on duty. Daylen could hear a quiet moan from behind a bookshelf and shook his head, clicking his fingers and laying down a noise-suppressing warding glyph.

Daylen coughed, catching the attention of one of the Templars. “Have you seen Connor Guerrin?”

“The apprentice? He was around here somewhere,” the man replied, his voice muffled through his helmet. “In the stacks, last I saw. What’s your business with him?”

“His letters haven’t been getting through, his father asked me to check in on him during our recruiting trip,” Daylen explained.

The man grunted. “I see. You’re familiar with the tower, I suppose you should go look for him, Warden.”

Daylen valiantly resisted the urge to thumb his nose at the man as he turned back to Fiona, just in time to spot an elf stumbling out of the stacks, her lips swollen and robes askew. “Ah, Neria,” Daylen said quietly. “Good to see you again.”

The elf winced as she recognized Daylen. “Amell. What are you doing back here?”

“Recruiting,” Daylen said. “This is Fiona, a Grey Warden.” He spotted another mage making a hasty exit from the other end of the row.

“A pleasure,” Fiona greeted, extending a hand.

“You always had a thing for elf women, didn’t you,” Neria noted.

“I…what?” Daylen glanced at Fiona, before his eyes widened. “Whoa, no, no. No, Fiona’s just a colleague, I’ve only known her for a few weeks. Not that she isn’t adorable, but that would just be unethical.”

“Warden-Commander Amell is a touch young for me,” Fiona added. “He’s dashing, of course, but I’m old enough to be his mother.”

“Uh-huh,” Neria said. “Well then. I ought to be going.”

“You see Connor anywhere in there?”

The mage’s cheeks pinked. “I’ve been…a bit distracted.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Daylen muttered.

“Shush. I haven’t seen him. Try looking a few stacks deeper.”

They found Connor in the row beyond the one Neria had been in, the apprentice trying to look innocent and mostly failing. “Connor!” The boy jerked upright at Daylen’s voice. “Were you peeping?”

The boy paled, and his eyes flicked back and forth nervously. “…No?”

“Is that a question or an answer?” Fiona asked.

“An a-answer, ma’am,” Connor stammered.

“Because if you’re going to do that, make sure you don’t linger too long,” Daylen advised. “It’s a good way to get caught.”

“And use softer boots,” Fiona added. “They’ll muffle your footsteps.” Both men looked at her in surprise. “What? I grew up in the Circle too, you know.”

“How are you holding up, Connor?”

“Mother sends the occasional letter, but I haven’t gotten any replies from Father,” Connor said softly.

Daylen’s eyebrows furrowed. “Well that’s strange. He’s very busy helping the king, but he asked me to find out why you hadn’t answered his letters.”

“But I have been,” Connor protested. “I’ve been sending them to the estate at Redcliffe.”

Daylen nodded in understand. “Now I get it. He’s in Denerim, along with your mother. No wonder he hasn’t been getting your letters. I’ll be sure to tell him what’s been going on. He asked me to tell you that he misses you dearly.”

The boy smiled, and Daylen ruffled his hair. “You keeping up with your studies?”

He nodded eagerly. “I’ve been doing research on how the Fade reflects our world. If we understand it better, we could make the Harrowing safer.”

“You know what the Harrowing entails?” Daylen asked.

Connor hesitated. “Jowan told me. Before.”

Daylen let a grin slip through. “Don’t worry about it. I told him. Just make sure you come out alone, and don’t trust anyone you talk to in the Fade.” He paused, and his grin turned impish. “Did you tell anyone else?”

Connor looked him dead in the eye. “Of course. Everyone who would listen.” Daylen bit down on one of his gauntlets to stifle a laugh. Fiona wasn’t so lucky, and settled for tittering quietly. “None of them knew! Some were saying we were supposed to rescue someone trapped in the Fade!”

“There are always a lot of rumors going about,” Daylen said. “You’ll do fine. Just be sure and write your father, you hear?”

“What exactly are you doing here, Warden?”

Daylen straightened up, all humor leaving his face. “Ah, Knight-Commander Greagoir.”

The man stood firm, giving Daylen his best glare. “I asked you a question, Warden.”

“That’s Warden-Commander,” Daylen corrected, reminding Greagoir they were of equal rank. “Or would you prefer to call me Arl Amell?”

The man grimaced. “Very well. What exactly are you doing here, _Warden-Commander_?”

“That’s better,” Daylen said. “I was asking this young lad to take me to First Enchanter Irving. I’m here on a recruiting mission.”

“Out of the question,” Greagoir replied coldly.

Daylen blinked. “Wasn’t asking. I’m telling you, I’m here to recruit.”

A few minutes of arguing later, Greagoir and Daylen entered Irving’s study, Fiona watching bemusedly as she trailed behind. “Somehow I knew you had returned,” Irving commented dryly. “I haven’t met anyone else who could irritate Knight-Commander Greagoir as much.”

“What about Anders?” Daylen asked.

“He’s dead,” Greagoir said flatly. “Killed at Ostagar.” Daylen refrained from correcting him.

“Well, what…oh, my apologies.” He stood up, bowing slightly to Fiona. “A pleasure. First Enchanter Irving, at your service.”

“Senior Warden Fiona, formerly of the Circle of Montsimmard,” Fiona replied. “I am familiar with your work, First Enchanter. A truly discerning mind.”

“Irving, Amell here wants to–”

“Warden-Commander Amell,” Irving corrected, and Daylen stroked his beard, hiding his smile.

“Yes, yes, Warden-Commander Amell came here recruiting.”

Irving raised an eyebrow, looking at Daylen. “Any prospects?”

“Neria Surana,” Daylen replied. “She’s a skilled healer, from what I remember. We have two, including me. I’m hoping to add a third, and so I'm recruiting her.”

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," Greagoir replied. "We are-"

"I'm sorry, did I give you the impression I was asking permission?" Daylen said archly. "Neria Surana is now a Grey Warden recruit. Be happy that I’m only recruiting one. My predecessor had a policy of one at a time, but the Wardens are in dire need of recruits."

"Warden-Commander," Irving said softly. "I would request you not take more than you absolutely need. The Circle is still recovering from Uldred's uprising."

"First Enchanter, that's precisely why I'm only recruiting one mage," Daylen replied. "One Harrowed mage, as tradition follows. The Wardens could use an entire crew of enchanters, but again, _one Harrowed mage_. And I'll invoke the Right of Conscription, if need be."

Greagoir was glaring at him. "You are rather impetuous, considering that the Blight has ended."

"But the threat of darkspawn remains," Daylen snapped. “Keep it up, and we’ll add a Knight-Commander to our ranks.”

"If I might interject," Irving said tiredly. "Have you discussed this with Neria?"

"Not yet," Daylen admitted. "I saw her, but I felt it would be wiser to tell you I was going to poach someone first, rather than let you know as we were heading out the door."

"Greagoir caught you," Irving replied, clearly not buying it.

"Greagoir caught me," Daylen admitted. "And...I would like to apologize, to the Knight-Commander, for my behavior tonight."

The Templar stared at him warily. "Why."

"Because now is the time we should be pulling together to rebuild," Daylen said. "Ferelden spent more time during the Blight on infighting than on killing darkspawn. My behavior is not appropriate for someone with my responsibilities. I am sorry, and it will not happen again."

"I...accept your apology, Warden-Commander," Greagoir said after a pause.

Daylen took a deep breath, before pushing on. "Knight-Commander, I do have another reason for being here."

"Oh, here it comes," the man said wearily.

"What?" Daylen asked defensively. "I'm bearing a proposal from the King himself. I'm sure you're aware of the apostate issue in Denerim. There are a great deal of back-alley healers and more than a few blood mages." He coughed into a fist. "Quite a few less blood mages once I got through with them, but there's probably still some out there. The King is proposing that a clinic be set up in Denerim, staffed by Circle mages, operated by the Chantry."

To his credit, Greagoir didn't immediately say no. The man pursed his lips, leaning back in his chair. "I'm listening."

"I was asked to put it to you in a way that sounded best for you, but I'll lay it out plainly," Daylen went on. "There's a location in the Market District, near the Chantry, that's been set aside. A handful of mages, maybe two or three to start, as demand requires. Obviously nobody below enchanter or even senior enchanter level, those skilled in creation magic. I know Wynne had trained a good dozen mages in her healing techniques in her time here, they might be a good place to start. I'm not sure how many Templars you would want on hand to look after the mages, but I would suggest pleasant, friendly types, primarily so that the children don't get scared. The Chantry and the Templars would run the clinic, both keeping it safe from crime and making sure the mages don't somehow turn into abominations. The Chantry gets the credit, the people of Denerim get a benefit they didn't before, and the mages get to represent themselves in a positive fashion. Everyone wins."

"I...am not entirely comfortable with this plan," Greagoir admitted.

"I wouldn't expect you to be," Daylen said. "That's another reason I'm not trying to spin this. I recall you having a sense for when someone's trying to soft-sell you. This would be starting on a trial basis. If it goes well, perhaps it could be expanded with more mages or other cities in the future. I know for a fact that a great deal of the nobility would love to have a mage available to assist with childbirth, if not on retainer, but that may be a ways off. I would ask Irving to select a handful of healers from the Circle's ranks, perhaps on rotation, six months at the clinic, six months back here for classes. No sense in depriving the apprentices of talent."

"It could even be a way to train some of our more inexperienced recruits," Greagoir mused.

Daylen blinked in surprise. "You mean...you're open to the idea?"

"You expected me to say no immediately?" Greagoir asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, yes," Daylen said bluntly. "And in truth, I now owe the King five sovereigns."

Greagoir snorted. "Warden, I don't like this plan, but I am open to it. We can sort out the smaller details, but convey to the king that it is a possibility. If this pays off, Ferelden could provide an example to the other Circles."

It took a few hours to hash out most of the details, and Fiona excused herself to go speak to Neria about joining the Grey Wardens. By the time the two elves returned, the majority of the issues were settled and Daylen and Irving were discussing the Architect’s abilities.

“Daylen, she seems amenable, but wished to speak with you directly,” Fiona said as they entered the room.

Daylen nodded. “Of course. Would you prefer to speak in private?”

“Here’s fine,” Neria said. “Why me?”

“Because you’re one of the best healers around,” Daylen replied. “No ulterior motives. If you don’t want to join up, I won’t force you. But the Wardens could use your help.”

She stared him down. “That’s all? Not very convincing.”

Daylen shrugged. “I won’t lie to you, it’s dangerous, but you’re a capable mage and good at what you do. It’s not an easy life, but you’ll be comfortable in Amaranthine and won’t have to put up with Templars.” Greagoir scowled.

“Sold.”

“Excellent. We’ll leave in the morning.” Daylen turned back to Irving. “How’s Dagna?”

“She’s actually in Tantervale at the moment,” Irving replied. “She read the entire enchanting section in the library in less than six weeks. The Tantervale Circle has a few volumes we do not, so she is visiting there.” Daylen sniggered.

—AOTG—

_The Mother  
The Mother was a powerful, intelligent broodmother who held a large group of awakened darkspawn under her spell. She was utterly insane, orchestrating twisted schemes with the darkspawn she controlled. The Mother's darkspawn brood are twisted mutations that prey on all who cross their path... even other darkspawn._

_The Architect confessed that the Mother was one of his failed creations. He attempted to free her from the call of the Old Gods, but her awakening drove her mad. She plotted against the Architect ever since._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1Supernatural. [ return to text ]


	12. Road Trip!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grand tour continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Pilgrims and Amaranthine  
The faithful travel great distances to see the birthplace of Andraste in Denerim, yet many make their pilgrimage longer still by visiting Amaranthine. After all, it was from the city's port that Maferath and his army departed to invade the Tevinter Imperium, and the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer now stands on the site where Andraste first revealed the Chant of Light._

_This is why the road that joins Amaranthine to Denerim is known as the Pilgrim's Path, and why the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer is the wealthiest chantry in all of Ferelden._

_\--From Annals of Northern Ferelden, by Brother Bedine, Chantry scholar_

—AOTG—

“How’s it feel to be free?” Daylen asked as they rowed across the lake the next morning.

“Nauseating,” Neria replied. “I’m used to closed-in spaces in the tower.”

“It is not uncommon,” Fiona said. “It will pass.”

“I have the opposite problem,” Daylen confided. “I found out the first time we entered the Deep Roads, I’ve got a problem with closed-in spaces. Now, are you sure you want to do this? Once you’re in, there’s no backing out, so be sure. Your phylactery is being sent to Amaranthine, but if you want, we’ll hand it over and you can go on your way.”

Fiona frowned. “I understand your motivations, Warden-Commander, but you should not abuse the Right of Conscription so.”

“I gave the other Circle mages we recruited a similar offer,” Daylen said. “If she doesn’t want to join the Grey Wardens, she doesn’t have to.”

“I’ll join. I always wanted out of the Circle,” Neria replied. “Had to hold back, avoid notice, and I probably made them think I didn’t have any drive.”

Fiona nodded in understanding. “Mustn’t catch the eye of a Templar, or who knows what may happen.”

Daylen scowled. “More and more I understand Anders’ anger.”

Neria’s eyes widened. “Anders is alive?”

Daylen nodded. “And well. I wasn’t going to tell Greagoir or Irving that, but he’s a Grey Warden now.” He quickly explained the circumstances of the healer’s recruitment. “I got lucky at the Circle – with Irving mentoring me, no Templar would try to take me as a pet. Most of the others weren’t as fortunate. I don’t hate Templars like him – I mean, I hate them, but not the way he does.” He rubbed his jaw. “Sure, I got the beatings too. They broke my jaw one time, but I was never raped. Nothing that wouldn’t heal, most of the time.”

“I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore,” Neria said quietly.

“Let’s change the subject, then,” Daylen offered. “You ever have dwarven-made whiskey?”

—AOTG—

“Nate, I’m back, and I brought,” Daylen broke off as he saw Nathaniel and Velanna locked in a passionate embrace. “Oh. I, uh...erm.” He coughed guiltily as the two continued what they were doing, either not noticing him or not caring. “Well then. Carry on.” He shut the door behind him, trying not to grin too widely.

A few minutes later, he found Anders. Daylen eyed the healer, the mage standing proudly despite being naked as the day he was born. “Anders, please, a little decorum. I would think you would have a little more class.”

“Really?” Anders asked skeptically. “Have you ever met me?”

Daylen snorted. “I don’t particularly mind, but has it occurred to you that Velanna might just sear those bits off? Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

—AOTG—

Neria hacked, choked, and fell over, gurgling. “Well, not what I had hoped for,” Daylen mused, gently nudging her with the toe of his boot.

“You…bastard…” she wheezed, coughing. “What is that?”

“Dwarven-made whiskey,” Daylen replied, leaning against the weapon rack in the armory. “One of my Wardens distills it here at the Keep.”

“It tastes like an entropy spell,” she rasped, watching as Daylen took a casual drink of the stuff. “How can you drink that poison?”

“I have things inside me I need to kill,” Daylen said. “Now, it’s time to see how you do on some darkspawn.”

Neria stared at him in confusion. “Aren’t I already a Warden?”

“Oh, no, the fun’s just starting,” Daylen replied, looking her up and down. “Have you gained much weight since I left?”

She shrugged. “Lost a few pounds after the uprising. Why?”

“Aw, a new recruit!” Oghren called. “Oh, and she’s got a rack on her, too! You know how to pick ‘em, Daylen!”

Daylen sighed. “I had hoped the first of my Wardens that you met would leave a good impression. Nevertheless, this is Oghren Kondrat, a Senior Warden and a good fighter. He made the whiskey you just drank.”

“Also a drunk and an exile,” Oghren added cheerfully. “Got a name, kid?”

“Neria Surana. And if you keep leering at my breasts like that, I’ll set your beard on fire.”

Oghren grunted. “You’ll do. Be nice to have someone besides Sparklefingers to rely on for healing.”

Neria glanced at Daylen. “Sparklefingers? Is he talking about Anders?” The Warden-Commander nodded. “Oh, I am _never_ letting him live that nickname down.”

“Well, here’s the deal,” Daylen explained, pulling a staff from the storage rack. “The equipment the Circle provides is, quite plainly, crap. You’re a mage, and while I could teach you how to use your magic to strengthen yourself enough that you could wear armor, we’ll see if you survive before we get into that.”

“Survive?”

Daylen nodded. “There’s an old dwarven fortress near here, we cleared it out a month or so ago. We’re going to leave through the Deep Roads entrance in the basement of the Keep, see if we can map a path to the fortress so the dwarves can trade with us once they reclaim it. You’ll be fighting darkspawn for the first time, and we’ll see how you do.” The elf looked nervous, but nodded. “I firmly believe you’ll do fine. The real tests come later. Meantime, try this staff on for size.”

Neria gave the staff an experimental twirl, lightning crackling around the end. “Oh, that feels good.”

Fiona entered the armory, her face grim. “I’ve examined the corpses you recovered. That definitely was the Architect, and Utha as well. How she survived for twenty years…”

Daylen noticed Neria staring at her. “It’s a long story, and I can’t tell you most of it yet. Fiona, are the others ready?”

“Sigrun and Keenan are arm-wrestling for who gets to go along,” Fiona replied tiredly. “But the others are ready, yes.”

“Excellent. You want to come?”

Fiona paused. “I should return to Weisshaupt.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Daylen urged. “When was the last time you had the opportunity to kill darkspawn?”

“Not long enough, for my tastes,” Fiona replied. Daylen pouted. “Oh, all right, give me a few minutes to gather some equipment.”

Voldrik met them at the barrier door, Daylen exchanging a few quiet words with him before turning to address the group. “All right. Here’s the plan. We’ve got our aboveground maps and compasses. We’re going to plot out a path through the Deep Roads to Kal’Hirol. If you get separated, stay where you are, and we’ll work our way back to you. Everyone got their chalk?” The Wardens patted themselves down, double-checking that they had the fragments Daylen had handed out. “Remember, if you get lost, start making the walls. We’ll keep an eye out.”

“Who’s the new girl?” Jukka asked, tightening the straps on one of his bracers.

“Neria Surana, Circle mage like me,” Daylen replied. “This is her test to join up.”

“Welcome to the sanitarium,” Nathaniel said. “Nathaniel Howe.”

“You know Oghren and Fiona, and that’s Sigrun, Jukka, they’re from the dwarven Legion of the Dead, and the mabari you know is Cupcake. We nicknamed the golems Frick and Frack, but if you’ve got better names for them, we’re open to suggestions.” The hound barked happily, and Daylen nodded to Voldrik. “All right. Let’s move out!”

—AOTG—

Daylen watched Neria finish throwing up and held out his canteen. “Here. Rinse and spit, then drink. You’ll feel better.” The elf gratefully took the canteen, swirling a mouthful of water around and spitting onto the stone floor. “It can be rough, the first time.”

Sigrun lobbed a darkspawn axe into the lava trench nearby. “Took me three fights before I stopped shaking, and I was in the Legion.” She glanced over at Fiona. “You clearly haven’t lost your touch, though.”

“That was impressive,” Daylen admitted. “I can do a similar spell with ice spikes, but I’ve never seen anyone just make flames erupt out of the ground like that before.” He looked over at the corpse of the ogre Fiona had immolated, the body still smoldering in the middle of a massive scorch mark.

The mage preened. “I _am_ rather good at what I do.”

“That’s why you’re a Warden,” Daylen replied. “Neria, you killed four darkspawn back there. You did well. That’s your first test, passed.”

“Great,” the mage said, wiping her mouth and handing the canteen back. “What’s next?”

Daylen held out a flask. “Collect some darkspawn blood. Try not to get any on you.” He watched as she carefully filled the flask, capping it and handing it back to him. “That’s step two. Step three will take place when we get back to the Keep.”

—AOTG—

When the Warden expedition arrived at Kal’Hirol, they were in for several surprises. First of all, the tunnel entering the fortress had been cleared, and the fortress itself was in far better shape than it had been before. Secondly, there were quite a few dwarves inside, most of whom were equally surprised to suddenly have a group of very confused Wardens well inside their defensive lines.

After the surprised screaming and weapon-waving subsided, Daylen stepped forward. “Sorry about that, we didn’t expect the dwarves to arrive so quickly. Who’s in charge?”

A dwarf stepped forward, pulling off his helmet. “Good to see you, Warden.”

Daylen beamed. “Kardol! I’ve got a few of your Legionnaires with me. Sigrun, Jukka!” The two stepped forward, removing their helmets. “They joined up with the Wardens when the Legion detachment originally sent here was destroyed.”

“Aye, but I see you avenged them,” Kardol remarked. “You left quite the mess. Took us a few days to clean it out.”

“We were coming back to do some housekeeping, as well as map some of the tunnels,” Daylen replied. “How many men you got with you?”

“Sixty dwarves, counting our supply lines,” Kardol said. “Why’s it matter?”

“Because if you need anything, we’ve got a supply post established up on the surface,” Daylen explained. “I know Bhelen intends to reclaim the fortress permanently, so we figured there might as well be some way to trade with them. I won’t bore you with the details, but the general idea is the dwarves trade mineral resources and fine dwarven crafts for whatever you need or want from the surface. Our king is even planning out overland supply lines so you don’t have to worry about the ‘spawn cutting you off.”

“That’d make our job a lot easier,” Kardol admitted.

“Well, we’ll share the maps we’ve made with you,” Daylen promised, “and the tunnels behind us are clear of the darkspawn for now. That tunnel leads straight to a Deep Roads entrance under Vigil’s Keep – we’ll have to figure out some way to keep it secure, or at least arrange a signal at the barrier door we have there.”

Kardol nodded. “Right then. We’ll keep that in mind.”

“We’re going to push on to Orzammar, help you keep the Deep Roads clear, do our part,” Daylen said. “Wardens! Let’s move!”

—AOTG—

The dwarves at the entrance to the Deep Roads were almost as surprised as the Legion had been when the Wardens emerged from the mines. Once they recognized Daylen and Oghren, however, things calmed down, and word was sent ahead to the Diamond Quarter of their arrival.

Getting through the city was tougher than expected. Luckily, nobody attempted to murder them this time, but with well-wishers besieging them at every turn, their progress was slowed to a crawl. The Warden-Commander briefly contemplated scattering them with a flashy bit of magic, but resisted the urge. Daylen tasked Oghren, Nathaniel, Neria, and Sigrun to make a pass through Dust Town and offer healing and employment to the casteless as the rest of the Wardens headed upstairs.

By the time they had handed their equipment over to a serving staff for cleaning, bathed, and dressed again, the other Wardens had returned, several new recruits in tow and Neria practically beaming from the goodwill her healing magic had generated.

Bhelen had them admitted immediately when they reached the palace, the Wardens ushered to a private audience chamber where the king waited. “Warden-Commander,” Bhelen greeted them. “I understand you did not enter Orzammar in the usual fashion.”

“I’m not much for tradition,” Daylen admitted.

“So I have seen,” Bhelen chuckled, but he was still wary. “What brings you to Orzammar?”

“Well, I came primarily so that I could tell you that the route between here and Kal’Hirol is clear of darkspawn, and there have been supplies cached at every Deep Roads entrance we could find, as agreed.”

Bhelen’s face brightened. “That is good news, indeed.”

“King Alistair promised aid to the dwarves, and we plan to deliver,” Daylen replied. “I did come here for another reason, as well.”

Bhelen’s tone grew guarded. “And that might be?”

“I find that my Wardens are in need of some masons,” Daylen explained. “There is a mostly-finished dwarven barrier door under Vigil’s Keep, but we’re looking for something more solid to keep the darkspawn out that can still be cracked open so we can patrol.”

“Is Master Glavonak not still with you?” Bhelen asked.

“Yes, but he can’t be everywhere at once. He’s handling the aboveground defenses and renovations to the Keep. I need an expert mason for the underground work, and another to supervise the renovations and expansions to Soldier’s Peak.”

“Soldier’s Peak?” Bhelen echoed. “I thought that was a myth.”

“Oh, it’s quite real,” Daylen said happily. “Amaranthine may be the headquarters for the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, but Soldier’s Peak is our training and research facility, as well as our final fallback point if the worst should happen. Unfortunately, it was essentially vacant for two hundred years before we reclaimed it, so it needs more repairs than the workers I’ve hired can provide. We can supply the backs needed, but we need a dwarf willing to go aboveground and manage the lot. Obviously we would be willing to retain their services if further projects arise, and put them in contact with King Alistair to help improve the fortifications in Denerim or elsewhere.”

Bhelen smiled, clearly happy that Daylen had refrained from making any demands Orzammar was not in a position to fulfill. “That can be arranged. Do you require any smiths?”

“The Wardens are set for blacksmiths, but the Crown or other nobles might be interested,” Daylen mused. “Fine dwarven crafts direct from Orzammar are known for their quality.”

“You won’t find better,” Bhelen said proudly.

“Ah. One other thing,” Daylen replied. “I was unsure of whether this was worth your attention or if I should simply ask the Shaperate, but I was hoping to procure some time tracings for our use while I was here, as well as see if you had any texts on magic that the Wardens could copy.”

“That’s a question for a Shaper, but I don’t foresee any problems.”

The Wardens found themselves guests of the King, which meant they received a substantial upgrade in lodgings. The Warden compound in Orzammar was comfortable if austere, but the rooms in the Royal Palace were a league beyond any level of comfort any of the Wardens had ever experienced. A banquet had been thrown in their honor, with the Wardens who had never been underground before sampling nug-based dishes for the first time.

A Proving was held the next day, and Sigrun and Jukka were cheering loudly in the stands as Oghren and Nathaniel critiqued the techniques of the fighters. Fiona, Neria, and Daylen found themselves drinking heavily, watching the tournament below progressing.

By the time the Provings were over, a handful of dwarven masons were ready to depart, and the next day the convoy set out for Vigil’s Keep with additional stone, ore, a handful of new recruits for Soldier’s Peak, and an offer to buy several wagonloads of dragonbone from the Wardens.

Once in Amaranthine, the resources were put to good use, every strong back available helping to move timber or stone to where it needed to be. Carpenters, cabinet-makers, glaziers, and all manner of other craftsmen had been given orders for the restoration of the two fortresses Daylen had found himself in charge of, and the finished products had started to arrive.

Things were truly changing for the better.

—AOTG—

“From this moment forth, Neria, you are a Grey Warden,” Daylen declared, holding out the chalice.

Neria eyed the Joining chalice dubiously. “So what, its darkspawn blood I collected, lyrium, and…” she wrinkled her nose. “Something I don’t really want to think about?”

Daylen nodded. “We submit ourselves to the Taint, take it into our bodies. This is the true test of becoming a Grey Warden. You survive, you pass. You die, you’re still in, but that’s not going to be much comfort.”

“Not really,” the elf murmured, taking the chalice. “Here we go.” She drank, grimacing as she forced down a mouthful of the concoction, handing it back to Daylen. “Oh, that’s…” she trailed off as she collapsed, Anders standing behind her and catching her easily.

“One more live Grey Warden,” Anders pronounced a moment later.

Daylen grinned, and nodded to Fiona. “We’ll head to Soldier’s Peak tomorrow morning. You can finish your investigation there, Avernus has a few ideas on the Architect’s experiments. After that, I guess you’ll be headed home.”

“Warden-Commander,” a messenger said, popping his head into the room. “You’re having a visitor. He claims to know you.”

“Ah, Daylen,” Zevran called, entering the room. “Good to see you again!”

“Zevran!” Daylen pulled the elf into a hug, before doing a quick round of introductions. “And this,” he finished, “is Senior Warden Fiona, visiting from Weisshaupt.”

“Perhaps I should have joined the Grey Wardens after all, if you have such visions of loveliness among your ranks,” Zevran commented.

Fiona sighed. “So Antivan. Subtle as a brick to the head.”

“Don't underestimate him,” Daylen warned. “Zevran is very handy in an open fight, but he's also very skilled in other things as well.”

“Many, _many_ other things,” Zevran said with a wink. “If nothing else, I am very good at using Charisma,” he drew one sword, “and Diplomacy,” he drew the other, “to solve my problems.” He sheathed his blades. “I met the Warden-Commander here during the Blight when I attempted to assassinate him.”

Fiona blinked, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He tried to kill me,” Daylen explained, “and instead I recruited him.”

Fiona considered that. “I wonder if there is a correlation between insanity and resistance to the Taint. Every Warden I know is nutters.”

Both Blight veterans grinned at that. “Zevran, my friend, you’ve done well with the trainees,” Daylen said. “But I got your message. I understand you’re planning to leave?”

“I’m afraid so,” the elf replied. “The Crows have announced that they do not intend to fulfill any contract on you, as both cells that took up the contract have been destroyed.” He paused, giving Daylen a knowing look. “No other cell will take up the mission. However, they _have_ admitted to being open to taking a contract on Alistair.”

Daylen’s face hardened. “Not if they know what’s good for them, they won’t.”

Zevran smiled faintly. “I had a feeling you would say that. So I sent the Crow master who declared he would take the contract a note. ‘There are no bindings I can’t escape. No trap I can’t evade. No doors I can’t open. I am coming for you. Pleasant dreams.’”

Daylen silently re-evaluated his friend. “And you intend to follow through on that?”

Zevran’s smile disappeared. “I will admit, I have grown fond of you, and of Alistair. If they were to kill him, you would surely seek vengeance, and Antiva simply _cannot_ take that sort of economic damage. My intervention would be less…” He paused, clearly thinking of a diplomatic way to put it.

“Ostentatious? Fire-filled? Destructive?” Daylen supplied.

“Expensive,” Zevran finished. “I intend to disassemble the Crows.”

“Well, stay the night at least, we need to celebrate our victory over the Architect.”

—AOTG—

Wine was flowing, food and good conversation were being had, and then some asshole had to go ruin it, Daylen thought as he ducked the short sword. Following an old trick Zevran had taught him, he kicked the man in the side of the knee, before hooking a leg over the man’s arm and violently twisting it out of its socket. He followed up with a pulse of force magic that sent the would-be assassin flying across the room, a pair of sickening crunches audible on impact as his legs broke and he slowly slid to the floor.

“So, now that you’ve got two broken legs and a dislocated shoulder,” Daylen asked, squatting next to the man, “do you want to tell me who you are and why you’re here?” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I mean, I know  _why_ you’re here. Trying to kill me. The whole ‘die!’ thing and swinging a sword at me told me that much. But that raises the question of why you’re trying to kill me.”

“I’ll never tell you that!” the would-be assassin spat. “The Maker will protect me from your evil, mage.”

“Well, that answers one question, who you are,” Daylen said. “Templars smell like lyrium and talk like zealots. That leaves my other question.  _Why are you trying to kill me_.”

“Because you’re a blood mage!”

Daylen shrugged. “And you’re an abomination who’s working as a Tevinter spy.”

The Templar flushed. “I most certainly am not!”

“So? I’m sorry, were we not just making shit up about each other?”

The Templar snarled at him. “Don’t lie to me. Confess! Isn’t it true you use blood magic?”

Daylen grinned. “You seem to think you’re in a position of power here, mate. You just tried to assassinate someone very important, even if I wasn’t an Arl. Everyone in this room wants you dead. To answer your question? No, I’m not a blood mage. Is it true I use blood magic? No, it ruddy well isn’t true, and you know that. The Grey Wardens are already on shaky ground in Ferelden. Why would I even consider doing something that would worsen that reputation?”

“Because you’re a blood mage!”

Daylen blinked in confusion. “You Templar boys really aren’t big on logic, are you?”

“Clearly,” Anders said dryly. “But we knew that.”

“So what do we do with you?” Daylen asked.

“I have an idea,” Zevran said.

“No murder,” Daylen replied.

“I no longer have an idea.”

“Well,” Daylen mused. “I suppose I have a few options. I could kill you for attacking an Arl. I could kill you and send the body back to the Chantry. Or…I could invoke the Right of Conscription.”

“ _What_?” Anders shouted. “You’re recruiting him?”

“Sending a message to the Chantry,” Daylen replied. “They try to assassinate me and they’ll just wind up bolstering the Warden’s ranks with Templars. Besides, anyone good enough to get this close has potential.”

“You would work with someone’s who tried to kill you?” the man asked.

“Show of hands,” Daylen called. “Who in this room has attempted to kill me, planned to kill me, or put me in a life-threatening situation?” Nathaniel, Velanna, Zevran, Jowan, and Loghain all raised their hands. Sigrun rocked a hand back and forth in a 'sort of' gesture. Daylen didn’t even turn around, but smiled. “Some of my closest friends have tried to end my life. And Loghain. A good working relationship should never see an attempted homicide as a stumbling block. Nathaniel was recruited from circumstances not unlike the ones you’re in, and look at him now. Warden-Constable.”

“And what of the bound demon?”

Justice growled, and Daylen raised a hand to forestall the spirit’s objection. “He’s no demon. That is a Spirit of Justice, trapped in our world by a darkspawn emissary. We’re working on a way to return him to his own world. But having killed my fair share in my time, I can give you my word, he is not a demon.”

“I can vouch for that,” Anders said. His face had been locked in a frown since Daylen announced his intention to conscript the Templar.

“As can I,” Velanna added.

“What’s your name?” Daylen asked again.

“Rolan,” the man replied. “The Chantry didn’t send me.”

The Warden-Commander rolled his eyes. “Sure they didn’t. You, a Templar, a Chantry attack dog, acted without orders. Try again, mate.”

“My Chantry was destroyed by the darkspawn,” Rolan said dully. “The Lothering Chantry.”

“And you hold me responsible for that?”

“The Wardens should have stopped the darkspawn!” Rolan spat.

“And the Chantry should have let the mages at Ostagar do their jobs, rather than prevent them from actually doing anything,” Daylen shot back. “And Loghain shouldn’t have betrayed the Wardens, and shouldn’t have abandoned Cailan, and shouldn’t have sent an assassin to poison Arl Eamon, and shouldn’t have prevented Grey Warden reinforcements from crossing the border to try to slow down the darkspawn horde. Really, we could do this all day.”

“I feel as though I should be insulted,” Loghain grumbled from the corner.

Zevran shrugged. “It was somewhat insulting. He did single you out, after all. But you did do all those things.”

“I was misinformed,” Loghain said defensively.

“No, the public was misinformed, when you painted us as regicides and traitors,” Daylen called from across the room. “You were willfully ignorant and paranoid.” He perked up. “Hey, you and this Templar should get along great! You’re two of a kind!”

“I’d really rather not,” Loghain began.

“Too bad,” Daylen said cheerfully. “If he survives the Joining, he’ll be part of your strike team.”

—AOTG—

“Well, paint me surprised,” Daylen said, nudging Rolan’s unconscious body. “I honestly didn’t expect him to survive the Joining.”

“I didn’t expect him to drink,” Anders said. “After all, he had to have smelled the blood. For Templars, that’s usually enough indication of blood magic for them to attack.” He stepped closer to Daylen. “Look, now that he’s out of earshot…so to speak…I have to ask. What are you thinking, recruiting a Templar?”

“I’m thinking that we can use the skills, if not the wielder,” Daylen replied. “Alistair taught Oghren most of the Templar abilities he knew, but Oghren lacks the refinement to teach them to others, and Alistair was a rookie Templar at most. Experienced Templars like Rolan can teach our recruits–”

“Teach them to what? Oppress mages? Obey blindly?”

Daylen gave his friend a hurt look. “You remember I’m a mage too, right? If you think I’d let that sort of attitude infect anyone he trains, think again. Anders, you know me. You know I’m just as strong a proponent of mage rights as you.”

“I…” Anders shut his mouth, thinking for a moment. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Daylen said angrily. “We both know you don’t mean that.”

Anders crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, fine. Daylen, I think this is a huge mistake. Rolan is a Templar. Nobody really leaves the order. That indoctrination lasts for life. And to be completely honest? When I joined the Wardens, I didn’t feel like I had much choice, but I knew it would keep me out from under a Templar’s heel for the rest of my life. And now you import one?”

“I import one that you outrank, that will not be assigned to duty with you, that will be stationed at a separate location from you, and that you will never have to see again if I have anything to say about it,” Daylen retorted. “I need you to trust me, Anders.”

Anders stared at him a minute longer, scowling. “Fine. I trust you.”

—AOTG—

They set out for Soldier’s Peak the next day, three mages, a Templar, and a mabari. Zevran left quietly in the opposite direction, intending to take a ship to Kirkwall, then Antiva.

As soon as they were out of sight of the castle, Daylen pulled the wagon over. “What’s wrong?” Rolan asked.

“You, mostly,” Daylen replied. “Get out. We need to talk.” Once they were out of earshot of Fiona and Neria, the man stood stiffly, his arms crossed as Daylen turned a steely glare on him. “First things first. The Grey Wardens operate by different rules than the Templars. So if I hear so much as one whisper that you’ve been anything but absolutely kind and respectful to anyone, whether or not they’re a mage, whether or not they’re a Warden, I will _personally_ turn you inside out and feed you your own entrails. Clear?”

“Clear,” Rolan said flatly, his eyes straight ahead.

“Secondly. When we get to Soldier’s Peak, you’ll be staying there for training for a week or two at least.”

“I’ve been trained,” Rolan replied.

“Yeah, by the Templars, but you won’t be facing scared children as a Grey Warden,” Daylen snapped. “You’ll be facing darkspawn, and you won’t have a bunch of your cronies backing you up. So I expect you to shut up, follow orders, forget everything you learned as a Templar, and learn to be a Grey Warden. Clear?”

“ _Clear_ ,” Rolan repeated, managing to make it sound like an insult.

“And finally, I need to know what lyrium dosage you were getting as a Templar,” Daylen said. Rolan’s eyes flicked over to his, and his mouth twitched. “Yeah, I know. It’s less of a secret than the Chantry thinks it is. I’m guessing you kept your doses up through the black market or Templars you knew, but I trust you little enough as it is, I don’t need you going into lyrium withdrawal unless you plan to quit entirely. If you’re going to keep taking it, fine, but speak with your trainers to make sure you get what you need.”

“I need the lyrium to use Templar abilities,” Rolan explained.

“No, you don’t,” Daylen replied. “King Alistair was a Templar initiate, never took lyrium, and can use every ability that a Templar can. Oghren never took lyrium, learned from Alistair, and can Smite harder than most Templars I’ve met.”

“The drunkard dwarf is a Templar?”

“No, he can use their abilities,” Daylen said slowly, as if speaking to a dim-witted child. “He doesn’t have the fanaticism, hatred of mages, or learned idiocy.” Rolan’s mouth twitched again. “That’s all. Get in the wagon.”

—AOTG—

“The tunnels are well-lit, if nothing else,” Fiona remarked as the wagon turned a corner. The elven worker stationed at the checkpoint waved as he recognized Daylen, letting them pass through.

“The first time my companions and I came here, the place had been abandoned for centuries,” Daylen explained. “I’m told that if the Peak was ever attacked, they could simply douse the lanterns and make it nearly impossible for an invading force to pick their way through the tunnels.”

“You’re told?” Rolan asked skeptically.

“Having been busy fighting the Blight and darkspawn instead of standing around with my thumbs up my arse, I haven’t had the time to test it myself,” Daylen replied. “You’ll notice rings of metal around the tunnel at each checkpoint – those are barrier rings. They can be used to seal off the tunnels. The barriers can only be broken by damaging the metal anchors, which would buy us more time to fall back and regroup.

They emerged into daylight, and the others gasped as they caught their first sight of Soldier’s Peak. “Impressive,” Fiona remarked after a moment. “I would not want to assault this fortress.”

“That’s what the Grey Wardens count on,” Daylen said. “The mountains are granite – the darkspawn hate tunneling through the stuff, so the fortress is about as secure as it can be. We’re using it as a training and research facility.”

“Research?” Rolan homed in on the word. “Into what?”

Daylen looked him directly in the eyes. “Blood Magic.”

“I knew it,” the Templar spat.

Daylen rolled his eyes. “Even if Wardens weren’t permitted to use Blood Magic, no research into the subject goes on here. Using the Taint in our blood to fight darkspawn or demons more effectively, sure. Staving off the Calling through better control of the Taint, definitely. But summoning demons? Controlling people? No. Good to see you listened to me, though.” Rolan glared at him, but fell silent.

Daylen pulled the wagon to a halt inside the courtyard, pleased to see the improvements were progressing well. Mikhael Dryden’s smithy had grown in size, and the man was hard at work, examining a hunk of silverite.

“All right. Neria, Rolan, go find a man named Lawrence. He’ll be in charge of assigning you trainers. Fiona, come with me.” The two approached Mikhael first, the man not looking up as he calmly worked the hunk of silverite along a grindstone. A few minutes later, he set it aside, apparently satisfied with the edge, and Daylen recognized it as an axehead. “Mikhael. Your work saved a lot of lives at Vigil’s Keep. My thanks.”

“It was my pleasure, Warden-Commander,” Mikhael said stiffly. “Your Wardens pay well, and will not want for quality arms and armor. I am unsatisfied with the composite robes for your mages, but they are a work in development.”

“I would suggest silverite on the vital areas, and dragonskin mail or dragonwing leather on the flexible points,” Daylen offered. “Save on weight and maintain protection. We’ve reclaimed a dwarven fortress near Amaranthine that excelled in smithing innovations. If they can get it back up and running, I would suggest a visit. The secret of crafting volcanic aurum was lost there, it might be rediscovered.”

The man nodded. “If there is knowledge to be had, I will be there.” He looked Fiona over. “Her robes are inadequate. We have an underlayer that will fit her.”

“What do you say, Fiona?” Daylen asked. “Up for a fitting?”

The Warden raised an eyebrow. “I was sent here to see how you were adjusting to the role, after all. Might as well see how you outfit your troops.” A half-hour of minor adjustments and tweaks later, Fiona was back in her robes, trying to settle the new weight in. “Very light, although it still feels heavier than many mages would be used to.”

“During the Blight, I communed with a spirit of a long-dead Dalish battlemage, the last of an order that had learned to use magic to strengthen their bodies,” Daylen said. “I learned how – it’s why I can use a sword. I could teach you, if you’d like.” The mage’s eyes lit up at the prospect of new knowledge.

“Warden-Commander,” Mikhael called. “I have finished the weapon you asked me to build.”

Daylen stared at him a moment, before remembering. “Oh! The starmetal longsword.”

Mikhael nodded, drawing it from the unadorned leather scabbard. “I call this blade Starfang. May it serve you well.” Daylen wisely refrained from telling Mikhael that he already had an unparalleled blade.

Showing Fiona around the Keep was an experience for them both. With the ongoing renovations, Daylen had little better idea of the situation in the fortress than Fiona did. Eventually, they picked their way upstairs, heading for Avernus’ tower.

“As much as I would have liked to ask for the Crown to protect the mages, I knew that would never happen,” Daylen was saying. “The Chantry interferes way too much as it is. We don’t need to give them an excuse to try to tighten control on Ferelden.”

Fiona nodded. “If the Crown tried to intervene, the Chantry could claim the Fereldan people had ‘lost their way,’ and who knows where that would end.” She looked around as they entered Avernus’ sanctum. “Is he not in?”

Daylen glanced around. “Avernus?” A bird flitted to the floor in front of them, shifting into the form of the blood mage Daylen remembered. “I see you got my notes on shapeshifting.”

“Fascinating magic,” Avernus replied. “Truly fascinating. I had heard stories of it, of course, but never seen or experienced it myself.”

“Well, you’re already doing better than me,” Daylen replied. “I only ever mastered the mouse transformation. This is Senior Warden Fiona, from Weisshaupt. Fiona, this is Avernus, the longest-serving Grey Warden.”

“You can shapeshift?” Fiona asked, stunned.

“I learned it from one of my companions during the Blight,” Daylen explained. “Obviously such a thing would never be taught in the Circle.”

“That would be the lovely Morrigan?” Avernus asked. Daylen winced slightly, but nodded. “A Witch of the Wilds. Truly fascinating. I have mastered the rodent, avian, and canine transformations.” He narrowed his eyes at Fiona. “What has happened to you?”

“She had previous contact with the Architect,” Daylen explained. “The copies of those notes I sent you mentioned an expedition she was on that encountered the creature.”

Avernus nodded in understanding. “And this Architect’s control of Blight magic allowed it to control the Taint in your bodies?”

“We were given artifacts that were supposed to protect us from being sensed by darkspawn. Instead, it accelerated the Taint’s progress in our bodies, but when the artifacts were removed, it seems the Taint was purged from my body entirely, and I have proven immune to it since. Unfortunately, I was the only survivor of the expedition that carried such an artifact, and as such there are no other subjects to glean information from.”

Avernus scowled. “What a waste. If we only knew…to think, the ability to confer ostensibly permanent immunity to the Taint, with _no_ side effects…”

“And with my bashing the Architect’s head in, the last being who could have told us how it worked is dead,” Daylen said.

“Better that you killed it,” Avernus replied. “Such a creature would be far too dangerous to leave alive.”

They had spent three days at Soldier’s Peak, long enough to satiate both Avernus and Fiona’s curiosity and for Daylen to be brought up to speed on the training, renovations, and research going on at the Keep. At the moment, he was sitting in Sophia Dryden’s vacated office, double-checking Lawrence’s budget requests. The mute man’s work was impeccable, and Daylen had yet to find a single mistake or a single request he took exception to in the thick pile of paperwork.

An elven messenger knocked politely on the open door. “Pardon the interruption, Commander, but a supply convoy from Vigil’s Keep has arrived. Some of your Grey Wardens are with it, and are requesting to speak to you.”

“Send them in, if you would,” Daylen said. “Thank you.” The elf nodded, clearly unaccustomed to such courtesy, and a few minutes later Jowan, Sigrun, Velanna, and Seranni were shown in. Lily came trailing in behind them, sniffing along the floorstones. “Sigrun, Seranni, Velanna, welcome to the Peak.”

“Sorry about the stack of paperwork I left,” Jowan said sheepishly, scratching at his thickening beard. “We left in something of a hurry.”

Daylen scoffed. “This is nothing. I went over the older forms you had filled out, didn’t come across anything that I disagreed with. What brings you here?”

“The supply convoy needed some guards, and we were getting restless after we completed our…other mission,” Seranni explained. “Jowan insisted that he was stationed here anyway.”

“You did it?” Daylen asked. “I’m surprised you could get there and back so quickly.”

“We got what we went for, yes.” Jowan looked shaken for a moment. “Did you...see things, there?”

Daylen nodded. “It was...unexpected.”

“Who did you see?” Jowan asked.

“You.” The man looked touched. “What, who else would I have seen? You were the closest thing I had to a brother. Who did you see?”

“Lily,” Jowan said softly. “I saw Lily. She...she apologized to me, said she was proud of how I had become my own mage. And that Guardian...he asked me if I regretted what had happened at the Circle.”

“Your answer is your own,” Daylen replied. “Some things are meant to be kept to ourselves, but if you want to talk about it...”

“I said that of course I regretted it,” Jowan said immediately. “I would be a fool not to. I hurt Lily, hurt you. It caused so much pain, even outside the Circle.”

“You’re allowed to regret things,” Daylen said. “He asked me if I felt I had failed you. But I told him we’d already met again and made our peace. Then the bastard asked me about my father.” Jowan grimaced, being one of the few people Daylen had trusted with that part of his past. “That one, I didn’t answer.”

“I can’t say I blame you,” Jowan replied. “It’s stashed upstairs already.”

Daylen nodded. “Fair enough. Seranni, Velanna, it’s actually good that you came, I’ve got possible locations on a couple of Dalish clans I would like to visit.”

Fiona walked in a moment later, pausing. “Oh, I didn’t realize…”

“Oh, even better. Fiona, this is Velanna, Seranni, and Sigrun, who fought the Architect with me. That’s Jowan, the Peak’s effective commander and deputy research head.”

“Seranni, the Seranni that the Architect had enthralled?” Fiona asked. The elf winced, but nodded. “I was sent to assist with the hunt for the Architect, only to find that you had already killed it. I am glad to hear of its demise, but I regret that anyone else was affected by that creature.”

“It’s dead, that’s what matters,” Seranni said quietly. “I would have enjoyed stabbing it another few dozen times, though.”

Fiona smirked. “I can understand the urge.”

The messenger entered the room again. “Commander, more visitors. Teyrn Cousland and his retinue are progressing through the tunnels!”

“Fergus is coming here?” Daylen asked. “Surprised he could find the place, it isn’t on the maps.”

Daylen met them in the courtyard, standing with his arms folded behind his back and waiting calmly as the carriage pulled to a halt. Fergus dismounted, staring at the fortress looming over him in shock. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Daylen called. “Welcome to Soldier’s Peak!”

“King Alistair told me how to find the place, but he _vastly_ under-sold the size of the place,” Fergus remarked, his eyes still locked on the fortress.

Showing him around was simple enough, although Daylen hesitated when they reached the door leading to the bridge to Avernus’s sanctum. “Across the breezeway is the tower where we keep our more…restricted research,” Daylen explained. “If you would like to see what goes on, Avernus could explain. I won’t hide this sort of thing from you, Fergus. I think the Couslands have been lied to enough.”

“I appreciate that,” Fergus said. “I do trust you, Daylen, but I am interested in what you do here.”

The two crossed the breezeway, finding Avernus working on an experiment involving several live nugs that Daylen had barely understood the third time the maleficar had explained it. “This would be the new Teyrn of Highever, I take it?”

“Fergus Cousland,” the noble said stiffly. “I understand you have been stationed here for quite some time.”

The old man bothered to be diplomatic. “I have, but it seems the Couslands are still honorable.”

“He’s been read in,” Daylen said, leaning against a workbench. “He’s asked to know what we do here.”

Avernus nodded. “Well, without going into a great deal of unnecessary if fascinating detail, we explore the power locked away in the Taint that gives the Grey Wardens their ability to fight the Blight. The secrets of Blood Magic were taught to mortals by demons, but the Taint has power within it that remains to be tapped. The research we are conducting not only allows Grey Wardens to become more powerful, but in the long term will hopefully allow us to make the Joining less dangerous, and may eventually render the Calling obsolete.”

“I have to admit, I understood about half of that,” Fergus said. “Could you give me an example of the power you have unlocked?”

“I can, but it may alarm you,” Avernus warned. “The appearance is…close to that of Blood Magic, but I assure you, it cannot be performed by someone who is not a Warden.” He drew a knife across his palm, allowing blood to pool in his hand and flinging it towards one of the nug test subjects. The blood hissed as it contacted the living tissue, and the nug screeched as the blood ate away its flesh.

“Your _blood_ is a weapon?” Fergus asked, alarmed.

“Grey Wardens fight dirty,” Daylen said. “I am ensuring, however, that strong ethical guidelines are in place.”

“I should hope so,” Fergus replied. “This fortress is a bit close to Highever.”

Avernus smirked. “If we do blow the fortress off the mountain, I shall ensure that it does not rain down over Highever.”

Fergus shrugged. “That’s good enough for me.”

—AOTG—

Fergus, Daylen, Fiona, and the three Wardens he was taking along were emerging from the tunnels when they found their path blocked by another convoy.

“Isn’t that the royal carriage?” Fergus asked. Alistair popped out, waving jauntily to them. “Apparently so.”

It took a few days for the combined convoy to reach Highever, and Daylen and Alistair managed to slip away from their combined retinues and bodyguards, standing on a promontory that overlooked the cliff. “I better stay away from the edge,” Alistair jibed. “Lest you try to move up in the world by offing me.”

“Ha ha,” Daylen deadpanned. “As I recall, I saved your life doing that.”

“That was before we nearly froze to death,” Alistair countered. “But that’s not why we’re here.” He broke the seal on the bottle of whiskey he had brought along, producing a pair of glasses. “This was Duncan’s favorite. It was the only vice he had.” He poured two fingers into each glass, handing one to Daylen. “To Duncan.”

“To Duncan,” Daylen said somberly, the two raising their glasses in a silent salute to their fallen mentor, before drinking.

—AOTG—

Daylen knocked on the door of the house, glancing around nervously. The door creaked halfway open, a haggard woman peering out. “Yes? Who are you?”

“My name is Daylen Amell,” he said quietly. “I’m a Grey Warden.” He flinched as the door slammed shut in his face.

“This is going well,” Alistair quipped.

Daylen gave him an irritated look. “Shush. We paid due to Duncan, we’re going to do the same for Jory.” He knocked on the door again. “Madam, please! We fought alongside your husband!”

The door opened again slightly. “My husband _died_ for the Wardens. What could you possibly say to make up for that?”

“There’s nothing I could say to make up for his loss,” Daylen said. “Jory was a good man. His last thoughts were of you. His sacrifice has not been forgotten by the Grey Wardens. Come to Amaranthine or to Soldier’s Peak, and you and your family will be taken care of by the Wardens.”

The door swung fully open, and the woman revealed a toddler sitting in a bassinet inside the house. “You mean that?”

“The Grey Wardens take care of our own,” Alistair said. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t intend to follow through.”

—AOTG—

Jory’s wife and daughter were safely ensconced in a wagon for the trip to Vigil’s Keep as the Wardens bid Fiona farewell, the elf departing on a ship on her long trip back to the Anderfels.

Once they had taken care of their other responsibilities, the Wardens headed into the northern Brecelian forest, searching for the clans Lanaya had mentioned in the area.

After two weeks, their patience was wearing thing. “Daylen, we've seen no signs of the Dalish,” Sigrun said. “Are you sure we shouldn't turn back? If we even find them, what's to say they won't try to kill us?”

“They'll find us,” Daylen replied confidently. “Can't guarantee they won't try to kill us out of hand, but Lanaya did tell us what to say to convince them to least speak with us.”

“What makes you so sure they'll find us? We haven't even seen a single sign of them.”

“ _You_ haven't. But they've tripped four of my wards so far, and they haven't attacked us yet.”

“So what are they waiting for?” She hissed.

“Halt, shemlen,” a Dalish scout ordered, stepping out from between a pair of dead trees that had fallen against each other. The scout had a bow in hand and an arrow nocked, but had not drawn yet.

“A suitably dramatic moment,” Daylen summed up, clearing his throat and raising his voice. “All right then. My name is Daylen Amell. I'm looking for Clan Alerion.”

“I did not ask you your business, shem, I ordered you to halt.”

Daylen shrugged, keeping his hands low. “Everyone remain calm.”

“Peace, brother,” Velanna said. “We wish you no harm.”

“Why do you travel with them?” The elf asked suspiciously. “Durgenlen and shems instead of your own kind?”

“No prejudice there, I see,” Daylen muttered.

“Mind yourself,” Velanna said primly. “I was the First of my clan. And you are speaking to a Grey Warden.”

“Several, in fact, including the Warden-Commander,” Sigrun chimed in.

The scout's jaw dropped. “The Warden? The one who helped-”

“Right here,” Daylen said, raising a hand. “Those Dalish that stood with me against the Blight proved themselves true warriors and peerless woodsmen. It was an honor to fight alongside them.”

—AOTG—

When the Wardens finally arrived back at Vigil’s Keep, they had three recruits in tow, all of whom had been blooded against the darkspawn already thanks to a band of the creatures that had obligingly attacked them on the outskirts of the Brecelian Forest. Lanton, Theron, and Darrian were all distinguished hunters from Clan Alerion, and had volunteered to join the Grey Wardens after speaking with Seranni and Velanna.

“Seranni, you mind showing them to the mess?” Daylen asked. “Velanna and I will go prepare for the Joining.”

An hour later, Daylen grimaced as he looked at the bodies on the floor. “Two out of three dead. What a waste.”

“Darrian survived, at least,” Velanna sighed.

“The Dalish bury their dead and plant a tree over the remains, right?” Daylen asked. “Lanton and Theron should receive the proper rites.”

“I will handle it,” Velanna promised.

“Seranni, can you run Darrian through the basics of being a Warden?” The skirmisher nodded. “Good. I’ve got about a dozen other things I need to attend to.”

“Amaranthine is booming,” Woolsey reported happily as Daylen entered the throne room. “The dragonbone is selling in small lots so as to not flood the market, and Master Wade is practically giddy with the steady supply. At this rate, he’ll have outfitted the Grey Wardens for another hundred years within a month. As it is, anything he seems critically unsatisfied with is tagged for sale by Herren.”

“The roads are secure, banditry is at an all-time low, and we have yet to hear of a single darkspawn sighting since your triumph over the Architect,” Garevel added.

“Lady Delilah accepted your offer to take on the title of Bann of Amaranthine,” Varel said. “The other open holdings went to the deceased’s next of kin.”

“Next of kin?” Daylen asked. “Were they told what happened to the nobles?”

Varel gave him a sly grin. “Well, you see, they were taking refuge at Vigil’s Keep, you see, and the darkspawn attacked. When they finally breached the walls, the nobles valiantly took up arms to defend the refugees and fell in battle.”

Daylen smirked. “That’ll do.”

“There is one other item of note,” Varel warned. “Revered Mother Leanna was found dead in the Amaranthine Chantry.”

Daylen’s jaw dropped. “Murdered?”

“Suicide, or at least it appears to be,” Varel grunted. “Whether she took her own life or had to be helped into the noose is unknown, but by the time we heard of it, the Templars had already locked down the scene.”

“Templars? Not Seekers?” Varel looked baffled. “The Seekers of Truth are the Chantry’s secret police. They’re the internal security force, supposedly acting as a check on Templar activities. Highly secretive, _very_ dedicated, and utterly despised by the Templars.” He quickly sketched out the symbol of the Seekers – an open eye, surrounded by a sunburst. “They’d be wearing armor that has this on it.”

“I do remember seeing one woman wearing armor with this symbol,” Varel admitted. “But she was well within the Chantry itself, and did not speak to me.”

“Then that means that the Chantry is cleaning house,” Daylen declared. “If the Seekers are here, either they’re covering up Rylock’s actions, or something bigger is going on.” He paused. “Where’s Rylock?”

—AOTG—

Daylen eyed the corpse hanging in the cell, scowling. “Well, shit.”

“She’s been dead at least a day, maybe two,” Varel pronounced. “Suicide. Just like Leanna.” He cut the body down, lowering it to the floor. Daylen knelt next to the body, forcing the mouth open. “Commander, what are you doing?”

Daylen bent, sniffing sharply, and shook his head. “Lyrium. How was she getting lyrium doses?”

“We’ve got infiltrators,” Varel surmised. “Wonderful.”

Daylen sighed. “Varel, I’m going to have to leave this one with you. You, me, my senior Wardens, Garevel, and Woolsey are the only ones I trust. At this moment, everyone else is a suspect. But we need to keep this quiet.”

“I’ll take care of it, Commander.”

Daylen nodded. “I need to get back to the throne room.”

—AOTG—

The Warden-Commander re-entered the throne room, still looking troubled. “What’s the word on Kal’Hirol?”

“The fortress has been secured by the Legion expedition, and settlers are arriving,” Woolsey said. “The dwarves clearly intend to reclaim the fortress permanently.”

“Let’s just hope that the rise of a second location doesn’t cause too much internal dissent,” Daylen mused. “If whoever controls Kal’Hirol decides not to follow Orzammar’s directives, we could wind up in the middle of a dwarven civil war.”

“That may be a ways off,” Woolsey pointed out. “It will take time for Kal’Hirol to become a viable rival to Orzammar, even with the size of the fortress and the options it will have for trade with the surface.”

“We’re looking at a lot of generational problems,” Daylen agreed. “I suppose we’ll have to see what happens.”

The next few days passed in a whirl of paperwork, ongoing repairs to the castle, reports on the arling, and the odd matter Daylen had to sit in judgment on. He paused on a particular report, before poking his head out of his study and calling for a messenger.

—AOTG—

“You sent for me, Commander?” Loghain asked.

“Have a seat.” The warrior looked at him suspiciously, but settled into the chair opposite Daylen. “What is your opinion of me?”

Loghain raised an eyebrow in surprise, before shrugging. “I think you’re a young, impetuous man with more luck than sense. I also happen to think that you’re an excellent leader, capable of inspiring your troops and winning their loyalty with ease. I respect that, although I think you need a bit more seasoning.”

Daylen nodded, accepting the criticism. “I’m young, I know that.”

“I _also_ can't believe after all that, after the technicality you used to recruit me into the Wardens, that you had me seconded to you,” Loghain grumbled.

“Mac Tir?”

“What?”

“Shut up.” Daylen crossed his arms. “You are under my command now. You are not the general of the Ferelden army, nor are you anything more than a pissant Warden that is just necessary enough that I won't make your head explode.”

“Why did you order me here?”

“Because I needed men dedicated to one thing above all else. Protecting Ferelden. I'm giving you a choice. You stay here, you serve under my command and you respect my orders. Or, you piss off back to Orlais and deal with Clarel and her Wardens.”

Loghain's face twisted. “Why should I serve here? In Orlais, they don't care what I've done.”

“Because I know you want more than anything else to protect this country. I know your record, Loghain. You've fought and bled for this land. I'm offering the chance to protect it from an actual threat. And for your own sake, don't pretend you don't want this.”

Loghain stared at him a moment longer, before nodding once. “I'll stay…Commander.”

“Good. Welcome to the Ferelden Grey Wardens, Loghain.” Daylen stood, striding across the room and opening the door slightly. “Send her in.” He sat back down. “I realize you may not be altogether enthused at serving in an order whose near-destruction you're directly responsible for, and the idea of dealing with a group of people who rightfully think of you as a traitor may be equally unappealing. So, when a particular recruit's name crossed my desk, I found the opportunity to solve several problems at once.”

The door opened and shut, and Loghain steeled himself. He heard the clink of armor as the recruit snapped to attention. “Commander! Reporting as ordered.”

Loghain's head snapped around so quickly the sound of vertebrae popping was audible. “ _Cauthrien_?” He spun around, glaring at Daylen. “You conscripted her?”

Daylen scoffed. “Hardly. She showed up here and volunteered to join, looking for you. I haven't put her through the Joining yet, but she's been training with our recruits. She is…impressive.”

“That she is,” Loghain said before he could stop himself. “Very impressive.”

“You trained her well. I was unsure of what to do with her – she clearly was only trying to join the order out of loyalty to you. However, the recent situation provided me an opportunity to both give you a comrade in the order that would trust you, and solve the issue of what to do with Ser Cauthrien here.” To her credit, the knight had remained completely immobile during the entire conversation. Daylen's eyes flicked over, and he addressed her directly. “Ser Cauthrien! Why do you wish to join the Grey Wardens?”

“The King has insisted the military be under the command of someone who is loyal to him first,” Cauthrien said. “I am a disgraced lowborn commoner,” her face twisted as if the words had a foul taste, “who followed the orders of a regicide.”

“Twenty years of work, grooming her as your replacement,” Daylen said softly. “Thrown to the fire, because of your damned hubris. Stripped of her rank and her commission. Her skills are well-known. Her options are a mercenary company, or the Wardens. She chose to follow you. If she survives the Joining, she'll be under your command.”

“I have full confidence in her ability to survive,” Loghain replied.

“I didn't ask you,” Daylen shot back. “You've been through one Joining besides your own. I've seen a dozen separate Joinings, and I've learned that there's very little rhyme or reason to who survives and who doesn't. But that's not the point. The packet Clarel sent with you detailed your service in Orlais. Effective, seemingly dedicated, yet uninspired. Much like your time as Ferelden regent.” Loghain bristled at the insult, and Daylen went on. “Your skills and your ability to command are near-legendary, but it's clear that you just don't give a damn anymore. I don't need that in a Warden.”

“I've been a general longer than you've been alive, whelp,” Loghain growled.

“I'll ignore the fact that you just called an Arl and your commanding officer a whelp,” Daylen said matter-of-factly. “However, your mouthing off leads me right into my second point. You can't follow orders anymore. You're so used to being in charge that you don't understand that you're no longer a general. But we're going to change that.”

“'We' are?” Loghain asked. “Who's we?”

“'We' is you, Warden-Recruit Cauthrien here, and several of the recruits to come out of Soldier's Peak. However, they're like you – respectable in performance, showing good potential, but lacking in drive. None of you care. Many of them are people who were Tainted during the Battle of Denerim and Joined as a life-saving measure. As the senior Warden, you will be in command.” Daylen leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands on the table. “Loghain, I've read the reports, the stories, the legends. Maric may have been the leader of the rebellion, but you were the one who got things done. That's what I need now. And maybe, you can get something done for yourself along the way. If not, I'll call Alistair and we'll slit your throat and let you bleed out in a ditch in Orlais, as was my first idea.”

“Commander, if you murder me and bury me in Orlais, I'll haunt you forever.”

“What if I murder you and bury you somewhere else?” Daylen asked.

Loghain shrugged. “Eh. I'll leave you alone. I'm sure you had your reasons.”[1]

—AOTG—

_Nathaniel Howe  
“The Howes are pariahs now, those of us left.”_

_Nathaniel Howe is the son of the disgraced Arl Rendon Howe and among the last scions of the once-great family. He blames the Grey Wardens for his father's death and had intended to assassinate the Warden-Commander. Upon seeing Vigil's Keep, however – his childhood home – Nathaniel decided to simply reclaim some of his family's treasures. The Wardens caught Nathaniel breaking in._

_The Warden-Commander was impressed to hear that it took four Wardens to capture Nathaniel, and upon hearing his reasons released Nathaniel. Such mercy had an odd effect on Nathaniel. He returned, seeking to become a Warden himself. Nathaniel undertook the Joining and survived._

_Nathaniel is a sensible fellow who values practical gifts over useless trinkets._

_In a chance encounter with the Howes' old groundskeeper, Nathaniel learned that his sister, Delilah, had married a shopkeeper in the city. Nathaniel was eager to find her. But Delilah was content with her commoner husband, and revealed that their father was exactly the tyrant everyone claimed._

_In time, Nathaniel came to terms with his sister's choices and his family legacy and rose to become one of the Warden-Commander’s most trusted lieutenants._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1How I Met Your Mother. [ return to text ]


	13. Intermission 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're between DLC packs here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Ser Cauthrien  
“Some of us know what honor and loyalty are.”_

_Cauthrien came to Loghain's service the hard way--she belonged to a poor family and was out doing work on the farm when she saw a man on horseback being attacked by several bandits. She rushed to his assistance, and found out belatedly that the man she “saved” was none other than the great hero Loghain. Though she was hardly more than a child, he took her in, offering her a position with his soldiers, and she climbed through the ranks through sheer determination. Becoming the commander of Maric's Shield, Loghain's elite soldiers, was the proudest moment of her life._

_When the time came, Cauthrien realized how far Loghain had fallen and allowed the Warden to enter the Landsmeet unhindered. Despite her show of loyalty to the country above the man, she was disgraced and stripped of her rank due to her association with Loghain. Seeking to follow the man and serve the country, Cauthrien joined the Grey Wardens._

—AOTG—

Daylen woke up one morning and realized it had been two months since the Architect’s death. Amaranthine was burgeoning, with trade flowing in from all directions – Highever, the ports, Denerim, and the beginnings of the reclamation of Kal’Hirol. A detachment of the Legion of the Dead was fighting their way through the Deep Roads towards Kal’Hirol in the name of keeping the route clear, and a strike team of rookie Wardens led by Loghain and supported by a pair of golems had ventured overland to Kal’Hirol before entering the Deep Roads and aiming to meet the Legion in the middle. Two members of the team were mages from the cadre at Soldier’s Peak, both of whom had cut their teeth in the siege of Vigil’s Keep.

Aboveground, Woolsey had invested in upgrading the roads to accommodate the increased traffic, and Garevel’s troops were guarding the workers and continuing to patrol the roads. Banditry was at an all-time low, with even the thickest footpad realizing that a heavily loaded wagon could very well be a trap. Guards not on patrol trained under the Grey Wardens as Wade churned out silverite armor almost casually. Daylen would never admit it to the man’s face, but the Warden-Commander found the smith’s despair at being forced to manufacture high-quality armor in such a ‘pedestrian’ fashion endlessly amusing. The dragonbone recovered from the Wastes was shipped off to Soldier’s Peak for Mikhael Dryden to work with. Voldrik Glavonak finished his repairs and upgrades to the walls, before moving on to upgrading the Keep itself. After the siege, the tunnels and cellars below the Keep had been nicknamed ‘the Hound’s Warren’ by the civilians that had taken shelter there. Cupcake had stood alone at the entrance to the cellars, ripping apart the odd darkspawn that made it past the other defenders.

With capable, relatively loyal banns in charge of the various holdings, the arling was essentially running itself, allowing Daylen to spend more time on his continued study of Force Magic and shapeshifting.

So, when a message arrived by special courier from Denerim bearing Alistair’s signature, the Warden-Commander ordered a wagon provisioned and packed with a load of dragonbone Alistair had expressed an interesting in buying and few extra casks of Oghren’s signature ale, which had proven wildly popular among the residents of Amaranthine who placed greater value on entertainment than on their livers. Cupcake, Nathaniel, and Oghren accompanied him south, the three Wardens swapping increasingly outlandish stories as Cupcake bounded free across the countryside, pausing to sniff or chase the odd hare. All three were surprised when the hound emerged from the treeline dragging an entire six-point buck, having brought it down alone.

That evening, Nathaniel had cleaned and skinned the deer, and the Wardens were feasting on greasy, roasted venison and passing around a bottle of whiskey as Cupcake gnawed on one of the deer’s thigh-bones.

When they arrived in Denerim, the Wardens were greeted at their compound by more workers, the elves retained by Woolsey to maintain the lodgings. The alienage’s proximity to the compound was a welcome bonus to the elves, along with the generous wages the Wardens offered.

It was only when the Wardens had unpacked and re-entered Denerim’s market that Daylen spotted what was missing. “He got rid of the Alienage’s gate,” he said.

Nathaniel shrugged. “So?”

Daylen sighed. “It’s a symbolic thing, but it’s a step forward.”

Wearing Grey Warden heraldry, they were recognized frequently on the way to the Palace District. Nathaniel kept his head down, still wary of his family’s reputation, but once people found out that the Warden-Commander was around, Daylen found himself mobbed by people hoping he would bless their children or cure their diseases. Oghren had a good laugh at him before calling over the crowd that he could catch up later.

Luckily, most of the people in need of healing could be sorted out with a single area-wide magical burst that left Daylen slightly winded, leaving a far smaller crowd of well-wishers behind. It still took the mage the better part of two hours to extricate himself and make sure he still had his coin purse, weapons, and smallclothes.

When he arrived at the palace, the guards ushered him inside, both of them clearly fighting grins at his difficulties. Daylen bore the muffled snickering as best he could, only for Nathaniel and Oghren to begin poking fun at him as soon as they were all in the same room. “Warden-Commander! Please, bless my child!” Oghren mimicked, practically roaring with laughter.

Nathaniel shook his head. “When you said you wanted to improve the public perception of mages, I doubt this is what you had in mind.”

“I will have you know that was _exactly_ what I planned,” Daylen sniffed. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, and Daylen’s mouth twitched. “Blast it. I almost said that with a straight face.”

“Something funny?” Alistair asked, entering the room. The king was wearing finer clothes than Daylen had ever seen him in, and it was only when the man shifted his weight that the mage realized the finery was armored.

“Yes, me,” Daylen replied as Nathaniel bowed in deference. Daylen shook hands with his friend. “Turns out wearing the Warden colors means people recognize you as a Warden.”

“Dress as a tax collector, nobody will talk to you,” Alistair suggested. “I’ve used it myself a few times.”

Daylen gave him a disapproving look. “Still trying to skip out on doing the work?”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “You sound like Eamon. No, I’m not skipping out on doing the work. If anything, I’m working harder than ever. I’ve been studying statecraft, rebuilding this nation, negotiating trade agreements, all that nonsense. That I still have time to sneak out of the castle and mingle in the taverns is what surprises me the most.” He clapped his hands together. “Speaking of which, as King, I’m making a decision. We’re all going out for a few pints. You’re buying.”

“You’ve got the key to the royal treasury,” Daylen protested.

“And you made me king,” Alistair countered.

“How long are you going to hold on to that excuse?”

“As long as possible,” Alistair replied bluntly, looking Nathaniel up and down. “I remember Oghren, but who’s this?”

Nathaniel extended a hand. “Nathaniel Howe, Your Majesty.”

Alistair’s jaw dropped. “ _Howe_?” He looked at Daylen. “You recruited a Howe?”

“I couldn’t find a Why, a Who, or a What,” Daylen said. “Had to go with a Howe.” Nathaniel groaned. “Nathaniel was in the Marches during the Blight. We had an…encounter, at Vigil’s Keep.”

Alistair gave Nathaniel a wary look. “Sten or Zevran?”

“Bit of each,” Daylen replied. “He was locked up, claimed he had planned to kill me, but when he got to the Keep, he just wanted some of his family’s things back. I let him go. He tracked me down later, asked to join the Grey Wardens.” Nathaniel had taken his hand back and was standing at attention. “And he’s been an exemplary Warden so far. Oghren might be better in a fight, but if someone needed to run Amaranthine, Nate’s the one I’d leave it to.”

“That so?” Alistair hummed. “Very well.” He held out his hand. “Alistair Theirin.”

Nathaniel slowly shook hands with him. “A pleasure, Your Majesty.”

Alistair nodded, before looking to Daylen, his face stony. “When were you going to tell me you brought Loghain back to Ferelden?”

“I was hoping for never, but since you bring it up, I’ve got something you should know,” Daylen said nervously.

“Why.”

“I needed fighters,” Daylen said.

“I trusted you when you told me he would never come back to Ferelden.”

“And I trusted you with my phylactery,” Daylen pointed out.

“I destroyed it right after you gave it to me,” Alistair shot back.

Daylen’s jaw dropped. “You did?”

“Of course I did,” Alistair scoffed. “You were a Warden, I wouldn’t ever use something like that against you. And I wasn’t going to leave something like that lying around.”

Daylen swallowed hard. “I…I didn’t realize. I…look, do you want Loghain dead? Go kill him. I’ve been sending him on back-to-back strike missions in the Deep Roads, hunting broodmothers. I don’t think he’s spent more than three days above ground in the last year. But I’m guessing that’s not why we’re here.”

“It’s not. I just wanted to catch up.”

“Elissa still around?” Daylen teased.

“She’s in the city, but not here at the moment,” Alistair replied. “Why?”

“Because you two can’t look at each other without blushing,” Daylen retorted.

An hour later, Daylen was still pressing Alistair on the subject as they started their second round of drinks. “Come on, mate, don’t pretend you don’t like her.”

“It’s not that,” Alistair insisted. “It’s just…do you ever just want to sit next to someone and listen to everything they could possibly say, about anything, ever, just because you like their face and their voice and their general existence?”

“Sure,” Daylen said.

“Never,” Oghren burped.

“A while back, yes,” Nathaniel admitted.

“Yeah, once or twice,” Elissa said from behind Alistair. The king yelped, nearly falling out of his chair.

“Did you all know she was there?” Alistair asked. Daylen nodded. “And none of you told me?”

“I was following his lead,” Nathaniel said, pointing at Daylen.

“If you couldn't tell she was back there, that's your fault,” Oghren added with a shrug.

Elissa leaned down, a wicked grin on her lips. “And the feeling is very, very mutual. Clear your schedule, Your Majesty. We're going for a walk in the gardens tomorrow.” She looked at Daylen. “You're coming along. Bring your dog.”

“Really? Why?”

“I'm really only in it for the dog,” Elissa said flatly. “Plus we need a chaperone. Wouldn't be proper by the old bags in the Chantry if we were out in the gardens alone, would it?” She lingered next to him a moment longer, the king staring back at her, before standing up straight and walking away.[1]

Daylen leaned over and poked his friend in the shoulder. “Why didn't you kiss her?”

“She didn't give me the signal,” Alistair replied defensively.

Daylen stared at his friend for a moment. “She didn't give you the signal?” Alistair nodded, and Daylen turned, grabbing Nathaniel by the collar and kissing him on the mouth. “Did HE give me the signal?”

“I most certainly did not!” Nathaniel protested. “Your beard tickles something awful, by the way.”[2]

“Exactly! But I pushed ahead! And so must you!” He glanced at Nathaniel. “To be fair, I had planned to kiss Oghren, but you were closer.”

—AOTG—

“Are you sure I shouldn’t bring flowers?” Alistair asked for the eighth time, fussing with his tunic.

Daylen sighed, tugging his robes back into place over his armor. The robes were a set he had picked up from Wonders of Thedas that lacked any Grey Warden heraldry or symbols, allowing him to travel incognito when necessary. “You’re going for a walk in a flower garden, Alistair. If you want to give her flowers, pick some while you’re out there. It’ll be more spontaneous anyway.” He paused. “But keep in mind if you start skipping through there and picking flowers, I’m setting you on fire.”

Alistair snorted. “Please. I am a master swordsman, I could certainly use a flower as a weapon. Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements!”

Daylen chuckled. “Come on, I’ll bet she’s waiting for us.”

Sure enough, Elissa was waiting for them, wearing a beautiful blue gown that Daylen was only moderately sure had a concealed weapon or two in it. A momentary pang went through Daylen as he saw the adoration in Alistair’s eyes, and he ruthlessly quashed it as he realized that Alistair was simply standing there.

“That's a lovely outfit, Lady Cousland,” Daylen said warmly as Alistair stared. “I bet it would look even better on Alistair's bedroom floor.”

Elissa gave a very unladylike snort, and Alistair's head snapped around as Cupcake tilted his head in confusion. “Are you flirting with her... _for me_?”

“I'm a helper,” Daylen explained. “Besides, this way it isn’t either of you being improper. Shall we?” The group set off, Daylen and Cupcake maintaining as respectful a distance as possible within the limits of their job as chaperones. The two nobles were talking quietly as they walked through the gardens, swapping stories from the Blight and Elissa’s rise through Denerim’s criminal underbelly.

“I'm really suave,” Alistair insisted. “Just give me four or five tries to get it right.”

Elissa laughed, her eyes sparkling. “You do just fine, Alistair. Besides, I've seen you in a fight. You're...impressive.”

“So are you,” the king replied. “I knew seasoned warriors that didn't move as well as you. How'd you pick that up?”

Elissa's smile stayed, but her eyes grew slightly dimmer. “My family made sure I was taught to fight.”

Alistair blanched, realizing his error. “Oh, Elissa, I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…”

She waved him off. “It's all right. I'm learning to deal with it. Slaughtering my way out of the castle that night was hard. Losing my family was harder. But I'm not the last Cousland, won’t be the last Cousland. Gutting Howe helped.”

“I'll admit, helping Daylen stab the Archdemon in the head made me feel a lot better about Ostagar,” Alistair admitted. “But that…” he glanced over at Elissa. “Person. Being alive. Still rankles me.”

“Can we...change the subject?” Elissa asked. Alistair nodded almost frantically as Daylen and Cupcake stepped closer, ready to intervene if things got awkward. “All right. You say you're suave? Show me.”

The king thought for a moment. “All right. You know, if I had a sovereign for every time you crossed my mind? I'd have one.” Elissa looked confused, and Daylen groaned, taking a pull on his flask. “Because once you crossed my mind, you never left.”

Daylen choked halfway through his drink, spitting out a mouthful of alcohol. “Nailed it,” he muttered, wiping his beard.

“Not yet, he didn't,” Elissa mumbled, and Alistair grinned before she pulled him into a kiss.

When the two finally came up for air, Alistair looked pointedly up at the sky. “Wow, the sky sure is beautiful today.”

“Yeah,” Daylen agreed, obviously either not getting or not choosing to get the hint. “You know who else is beautiful?” Alistair glared at him, and Daylen looked down at his dog adoringly. “Cupcake. Aren't you, boy?” The dog barked happily, before grabbing Daylen's sleeve in his teeth and pulling him away. “I seem to have worn out my welcome. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

“That's not exactly a long list,” Alistair pointed out.

“Exactly!”

“All right, now that he’s gone, level with me,” Alistair said. “Did he tell you to come to that tavern?”

“Of course,” Elissa replied. “Do you really think I would have just shown up there?”

“Well, Alistair that’s king doubts it. The Alistair that fought alongside a gorgeous, amazing woman that infiltrated an enemy stronghold alone thinks that it’s entirely possible.”

“Then let’s just say I was brought there by good luck,” she said softly, cupping his cheek and pulling him in for another kiss.

There was an angry bark, a crash of magical lightning, and a copse of trees off to the couple’s left shook violently, birds taking to the air. Daylen emerged, dragging a smoking body by the foot. “We've got assassins,” he reported. “Be alert.”

Alistair groaned. “So much for our perfect afternoon.” He yelped as Elissa yanked him out of the path of a crossbow bolt, and Daylen literally returned fire, setting the would-be assassin alight with a fireball.

The rogue knelt, relieving the body Daylen had dragged over of a pair of wickedly curved daggers, giving them an experimental twirl to familiarize herself with the balance. “There’s nothing like an attempted murder to spice up the day.”

Daylen tucked his staff under his arm, putting both hands behind his head and digging around under his collar. Drawing out a narrow short sword from beneath his robes, he passed it over to Alistair. “Now you won’t have to use flowers.”

“You just had this tucked away?” Alistair asked, drawing the blade.

“I had that elven blacksmith Varathorn make it,” Daylen replied. “You want to call the guards, or what?” Another arrow zipped by, and Daylen brought up a battery of defensive spells, a haze of magic filling the air. “Let's get out of here.” An arrow skittered off the edge of Daylen’s defensive wards, and Daylen aimed carefully with his staff, blowing a hole through the archer’s chest with a spirit bolt.

“Hang on,” Elissa said, dropping to one knee. She grimaced, before carefully ripping the stitching up one side of her gown with the point of her dagger as Daylen continued casting spells. She moved into a crouch, testing her improved mobility. “I really liked this gown.”

“Head for the palace,” Alistair ordered. “We don’t know how many are out here.”

“You’ve both got a Lifeward on you,” Daylen said, leaning on his staff and panting. “If you get badly hurt, it’ll heal you even if I get taken down.” He took a steadying breath. “Takes quite a bit out of me, however.”

The trio moved out, Cupcake barreling into another archer and savaging him, the man’s screams turning into gurgling noises as the hound ripped into the assassin’s throat. “Don’t you have any lyrium?” Alistair asked.

“Didn’t think I would need it for a stroll through the gardens,” Daylen replied, lobbing a fireball at a hedgerow and driving a pair of assassins from cover, the two dropping their bows and drawing swords

“But you stuffed a sword into your robes?”

Daylen shot him an irritated look. “The sword hooks into my robes, but I left the bandolier in my room.”

“Boys, now is not the time!” Elissa warned.

“Some chaperone you turned out to be!” Alistair snarked.

“Fine, I’ll handle this,” the noble muttered. Elissa's dagger came down, slicing into the man's thigh as she parried his strike with the other blade. She slid between the assassins easily, raking her blades back and forth and leaving her opponents crying out in pain or dead behind her. She dropped one dagger, scooping up a fallen sword without breaking stride.

“Daylen, you've dealt with aggressive women you were attracted to before,” Alistair said. “Should I have found that amazingly arousing?”

“Absolutely,” Daylen replied, staring as Elissa bopped a man on the nose with the guard of her sword as her dagger sank into his gut.

“Good,” the king replied. “Just making sure.” Daylen collapsed, his defensive spells failing as the man gasped for air. “What happened?”

“Mage,” Daylen rasped, pointing. A wiry man with pockmarked skin and a gnarled staff was sneering at Daylen. “Drained me.” An arrow glanced off his armor, and Daylen curled up into a ball, trying to avoid drawing attention until he mana returned.

Elissa spotted the mage, stabbing her dagger into another assassin’s chest and leaving it there. She fumbled at the front of her gown for a moment, before snapping her arm out, a narrow spike of metal burring into the enemy mage’s throat. Elissa almost casually parried two strikes from one of the few remaining assassins, kicking him in the crotch and slashing open his gut.

The others tried to break and flee as the guards finally arrived, only to be quickly surrounded. Those that dropped their weapons were beaten into unconsciousness. Those that resisted were cut down without a word.

—AOTG—

“Eamon’s handling the investigation,” Alistair explained that evening, breaking the seal on a bottle of whiskey and pouring himself and Daylen a drink. “They didn’t have any written orders, but they did have a great deal of coin on them. I don’t know who tried to kill us, but they’re well-funded.”

“Great,” Daylen grunted, throwing back his drink and swallowing hard. “More people trying to off us. I would have thought after the Blight the number would go down, not up.” He pulled his robes tighter around himself, still shaky from having his mana drained.

Alistair shrugged. “I guess with fewer demands on their time, assassination is all they have to occupy themselves with.”

Daylen smiled in spite of how rotten he felt. “How’s Elissa?”

“Annoyed about the damage to her gown, but she’s fine.” Alistair sighed, downing his drink. “She's going to call it off tomorrow, I know. We nearly got killed today. On a walk. In the castle garden.”

“She fought alongside us in the Blight, she knew what she was dealing with,” Daylen said reassuringly. “Get some rest. It'll be fine.”

“You don't know that.”

“No, I don't,” Daylen admitted. “But I believe. And I know that she's an intelligent woman who cares strongly about you and wouldn't just run away. Don't you?”

Alistair glared at him. “You are impossible to argue with.”

Daylen grinned at him. “Get some rest, Your Majesty.”

“Eat me.” Alistair closed the door behind him as Daylen chuckled, heading for his own chambers. He nodded to the guard opposite the door as the man came to attention, entering his chambers. He paused and sighed, rubbing his face as he crossed the room, kicking off his boots.

“Your guards are terrible,” Elissa commented idly from the bed.

Alistair most certainly did not scream like a little girl in surprise. Kings simply didn't do that.

There was a pounding at the door. “Your Majesty? Are you all right?”

“Just fine,” Alistair said, not looking away from Elissa. “No problem. Just fine. Sorry to scare you.”

“I should be saying that,” Elissa drawled, giving him a wicked smile.

“How did you get in here?” Alistair asked. “And where are your clothes?”

“I seem to have misplaced them,” Elissa commented. She was stretched across the width of his bed, the covers artfully rumpled in a way he was certain the maids would never have left them, taunting him by displaying acres of creamy skin and yet hiding more than a courtesan would ever show. She was propped up on one elbow, her lower lip between her teeth. “I figured they might be in here. Seemed as good a place to start as any.”

“Well, I suppose I should help you look,” Alistair offered, before shaking himself. “Wait. We nearly got killed today! How are you still flirting with me?”

“What makes you think I'm flirting with you?” Elissa asked innocently.

Alistair opened his mouth at the seemingly obvious answer. “Why are you naked on my bed?”

A brief pause. “Don't change the subject.”

“If this isn't flirting, what is it?”

“I'm not flirting with you,” Elissa replied. “I'm propositioning you. There's a difference.”

Another pause as Alistair digested that one. “Oh. Well in that case, I can completely understand it. And the assassins didn't discourage you at all?”

“You have any idea how many times I've nearly died in the past several years?” Elissa asked. “I'm sure you've got me beat by volume, but between Howe, thugs and bandits on the road from Highever to Ostagar and then to Redcliffe and then Denerim, and then surviving in Denerim for four months planning my attack on Howe's estate, I don't really get flustered anymore when someone tries to stick a sword in me.” She shifted, her hair drifting across her face and shoulders, and patted the bed. “Come here.”

“I admit,” Alistair said softly, undoing the buttons on his tunic as he approached the bed, “this is somewhat new ground for me.”

“I'm sure you'll do just fine,” she whispered as she pulled him onto the bed.

—AOTG—

Elissa stretched languidly, and the King watched as her rear rose into the air. She blew sweaty hair out of her face, a grin stretching across her face. “Mmf. That was nice.”

“Yes,” Alistair said flatly. “Yes it was.”

“Something wrong?” Elissa asked.

“No, nothing,” Alistair insisted, sitting up. She scooted up behind him, wrapping her arms around his midsection and planting a kiss on his neck.

Suddenly, she tensed. “That...was that your first time?”

Alistair shook her off, standing up and crossing the room to a tray holding a pitcher of water. “Is that such a problem?”

“Well, no, of course not,” Elissa said as he downed a glass. “I'm just...surprised.”

The man looked over, a second glass of water halfway to his lips. “Why?”

“Because I can't feel my legs,” Elissa replied. “My head is spinning. If that was your first time, I may not be able to survive when you get some experience under your belt.”

Alistair shrugged. “Well, you know what we could do? We could have sex again. Just throwing that out there.”

“Bite me,” Elissa said.

Alistair blanched. “I'm sorry! I was kidding! It was – it was a joke!”

“No, I mean like you did before,” Elissa purred, raising her chin and exposing several bite marks on her neck and shoulder. “Bite me.”

—AOTG—

“Alistair?” Elissa paused, picking at the bedlinens. “This...us. Is this...something you would want to do again?” At Alistair's confused look, she shrugged. “I mean, I don't just fall into bed with every man I meet. Even if he is a king, and adorable.”

“You're seriously asking that?” Alistair asked. “As soon as I get back, we're doing that again. And again. And maybe again after that, if the bed holds out.”

Elissa raised an eyebrow. “So those stories about Warden stamina...”

“Completely true,” Alistair said flatly.

Elissa cackled. “Oh, my, I may not be able to walk tomorrow.”

Alistair paused. “Hold that thought. Don't go anywhere.”

“I can't,” she admitted. “I honestly don't know where my clothes went, and I came in the window.”

“Wait. Which window.” She pointed, and Alistair looked deeply confused. “How? There's no ledge.”

“Trade secret,” she said with a wink. He shrugged, grabbing his sword belt off the rack. “You always take a sword with you to the privy?”

“You get jumped by giant spiders once while your pants are around your ankles, you start coming prepared,” Alistair said. “Besides, I was almost murdered in my own garden today.” He came back a minute later, pausing to glance out the window in confusion again, before sliding into the bed next to her, scooting up behind her and pressing a kiss to her lips as she turned her head to greet him. “Look, there's something I would like to say, but there's a few things you should know first. I may be a king now, but you never stop being a Grey Warden, and there are some…unfortunate facts of life we have to face. One of them is a difficulty in having children. From what I understand it's possible, but it tends to take the barbs from our arrows, so to speak. Another is a reduced life expectancy. I mean, I didn't exactly expect to life to a ripe old age, but I haven't really known what to expect from life since the day I met Daylen Amell.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Elissa asked quietly.

“Because,” Alistair said, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, “I feel,” another kiss, this one to her wrist, “that you,” he nipped gently at her shoulder, “should go into this,” he planted another kiss at the base of her neck, ”with your eyes open.”

“My eyes are open,” she mumbled, rolling over and wrapping her arms around his neck. “And I'm not going anyplace.”

—AOTG—

Alistair hammered on Daylen's door, bringing the mostly-naked and bleary-eyed Warden-Commander running, a spell wisp igniting behind his head. “What's the problem? Oh. It's you.”

“I need your help.”

Daylen rubbed at his eyes. “Do I need pants for this help?”

Alistair glanced down before he could stop himself. “I think they would make it easier, yes.”

A few minutes later, the Warden-Commander was dressed and gulping a scalding cup of strong tea. “So what's the problem? It's not exactly a secret that you and she have been...how did you put it? Making kissy faces?”

“Shut up,” Alistair pouted.

“Oh, you know I'm behind your relationship with her all the way,” Daylen groused. “It's not like things are complicated between you two.” His eyes widened. “Is it?” Alistair said nothing, but there was guilt in his eyes. “Alistair, have you and she...”

“If we had, would I be able to say something about it?” Alistair asked, choosing his words carefully. “There could be certain ramifications. But hypothetically, if something did happen, it would have happened a few hours ago.” He paused. “And an hour or so before that. And then another half hour before _that_.” Daylen smirked, and Alistair blushed brightly. “But I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

Daylen considered that, before nodding. “Good point. Well, if something did hypothetically happen, I'm happy you two found each other. She's been through a lot and you have a whole boatload of your own sad times in your past. You two could use a little good.”

“So what do I do now?”

“Do you love her?”

Alistair found himself floundering on that one. “How do I tell?”

Daylen opened his mouth, paused, and shut it again. “All right, give me a moment on that one. Remember I fell in love accidentally.” Alistair snorted. “All right. This isn't perfect, but let me run this by you. How do you feel about me?”

“You're my best friend,” Alistair said immediately. “If you needed anything in the world, you wouldn't even need to ask. I'd put my life on the line to help you out. We get along well, I've never met anyone I fight alongside as well, and I know you would never do anything to hurt me.”

“And how do you feel about her?” Daylen asked pointedly.

Alistair considered the question. “Much the same way. She's amazing. She's brilliant, witty, she makes me laugh like you do. She's beautiful, but she's got amazing skill in a fight and that's just unfairly attractive. She’s been in Denerim the past few months, and we’ve worked together a lot. I feel this pull towards her I've never felt towards anybody, and if she wanted the moon on a string I'd do my best to pull it down for her. When I see her, I get this feeling like the world's a little lighter and brighter, and I have this recurring daydream of the two of us running towards each other across a field of flowers while cheese wheels tumble past. It's like there's this...squibbliness, in my chest.”

Daylen was grinning broadly. “Alistair?” The warrior met his eyes. “You love her. Now what are you going to do about it?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, here's a thought.” Daylen reached across the table and grabbed Alistair by the collar. “ _Marry the girl_. You're obviously stupid in love with her, and I'd bet she feels the same way. So marry her. Make her your queen, pop out a few nuggets, and grow old and wrinkly together.”

“Come on, Daylen, you know we don't get a happy ending like that.”

“So tell her that too. She needs to go into this with all the information.”

“She knows.” Daylen coughed out a mouthful of the tea. “Yes, I told her. Last night.”

Daylen wiped his mouth, watching his friend carefully. “And how did she react?”

Alistair shrugged. “She was fine with it.”

“Alistair. Marry her. Soon. Don't put off your own happiness. You don't know how much time you're going to get. Take it from someone who found someone he loved and had her for less than a year.”

“We would need to wait a few months,” Alistair mused. “Make it look proper and all that.”

“I’m sure Eamon will be happy,” Daylen remarked. “I don’t care much for how he treated you, but I’m sure he cares for you.”

—AOTG—

“They were Orlesian,” Eamon said a few days later. “Born, raised, and paid.”

“If they were Antivan, I would say this is just their version of saying hello,” Alistair mused. “You think the Empress is plotting something?”

“Always,” Eamon replied. “They had no written orders, but each had a rather hefty amount of coin on them.”

“Who was the target?” Daylen asked, leaning back in his chair in the corner of the room. “Him, me, Elissa, all of us?”

“Alistair was the target,” Eamon replied, his face stormy. “Had they killed you or Elissa, they would have been paid more, but their primary target was the king.”

“Who gave them their orders?” Alistair asked.

“Nobody we could trace back to Celene,” Eamon said. Alistair scowled. “This is their blasted Game, to be sure.”

“If they want to play, then let’s play,” Alistair growled. “We’ll send our own assassins.”

“That would be a dangerous escalation,” Eamon warned. “Ferelden may be recovering quickly, but we could not hope to match the Orlesians if war were declared.”

Daylen stroked his beard. “Zevran’s not in Ferelden anymore. He left for Antiva, planning on sending a rather _pointed_ message to the Crows.” Alistair snorted. “My usual method of dealing with assassins is either recruiting them or setting them and their friends on fire. Eamon, you’ve dealt with statecraft and diplomacy more than either of us. What do you recommend?”

“Something less ostentatious, but no less pointed,” Eamon replied. “We must be subtle in this. Perhaps send Celene a carefully worded letter regarding this. Your companion Leliana has a few tidbits of information that might be useful in intimating that the Empress is not above reproach.” Daylen and Alistair both stared at him, baffled, and Eamon sighed. “Let me put it a different way. Don’t send assassins. They are expensive, not completely reliable, and if one is caught, we’ve tipped our hand, as happened when the assassins they sent were caught. But the _rumor_ that we may or may not have sent our own assassins? Everyone goes berserk and guards are tripled at further expense. It raises internal tensions, but with no proof we can’t be accused of anything, because there’s nothing to see.”

Alistair smiled. “Oh, that’s a good idea.”

Eamon winked. “It gets better. We don’t need to send assassins, but simply imply that we didn’t _have_ to, that we have someone in Celene’s retinue or court that has been working for us all along and could kill them at any time.” He paused. “That would require a diplomat to visit Orlais, perhaps drop a name at dinner of someone we don’t know. Imply that we’re familiar with the goings-on in her daily life in a way that we could only be if we were getting reports on her every move. Plant the seed of suspicion, and her nervous sweat will provide all the nourishment that plant needs. With a little luck, paranoia will lead her to purge her own cabinet, crippling her operations, and we might even insert a few agents into the new staff.” Both men were staring at Eamon, Daylen wide-eyed in alarm, Alistair slightly openmouthed. “What?”

“Eamon, you may be a little bit evil,” Daylen said finally. “But that’s brilliant. Who do you have in mind to go?”

“You.”

Daylen stared at him. “Me?”

“You.”

“Ridiculous.”

“You are an Arl, the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, and most importantly, both fluent in Orlesian and thoroughly unwilling to put up with nonsense,” Eamon said. “Sending a mage would be a direct insult as it is, but sending one as qualified as yourself renders them unable to take offense at it _and_ allows you to use your Maker-given talent of cheek.”

Daylen buffed his nails on his robes. “It’s a gift.”

“I would suggest taking a few Wardens with you, no more than three or four.”

Daylen tilted his head. “I’d say Nathaniel, Neria, and Oghren would do nicely.”

“The son of Rendon Howe, an elven mage, and a dwarf who’s drunk most of the time,” Alistair explained at Eamon’s confused look.

“I wonder if that may be going too far,” Eamon mused.

“Nathaniel’s about as diplomatic as my Wardens get,” Daylen admitted. “Oghren has no shame, which ought to take some of the sting out of the catty little insults Orlesians love to throw about. He’d make an amazing distraction if one of us were to slip away. Both Nathaniel and Neria speak Orlesian, and both have some level of skill in getting into places they shouldn’t be and finding things people would rather they didn’t.”

Eamon stroked at his beard. “I see.”

“The hardest part will be securing an invitation,” Daylen admitted.

“Actually, there has been a standing invitation from Empress Celene for a Fereldan envoy to attend a weekly salon in Halamshiral,” Eamon replied. “We merely have to reply with your intention to attend.”

“Well, I’ll get on that as soon as I can.”

“Before you leave, I do need your help with something else,” Alistair said.

—AOTG—

Daylen stared at the forge in front of them. “You realize I have no more idea on how to forge stuff than you do, right?”

“Well, yes, I know that,” Alistair admitted. “It’s more of I want you nearby if I set myself on fire or grievously injure myself doing this. You know the odds of that.” Daylen rolled his eyes. “And I could use your heckling.”

Daylen chuckled. “Fair enough. What are you using?” Alistair set a large bar of silverite on the workbench. Daylen eyed it. “You don’t think that’s a bit much?”

“Was the smallest amount I could get them to give me,” Alistair grumbled. “I guess they thought I was planning to make a dagger.”

“Well, at least you’ll have enough for multiple attempts,” Daylen offered.

“You got the stones I asked for?”

Daylen nodded, setting a handful of small emeralds on the workbench, along with a group of smaller sapphires, the gems glinting in the light. “Looted them. I figure something in there will be suitable.”

“Well, let’s get started,” Alistair declared. “Step one…take a break.”

Daylen grabbed him by the arm. “Go on. The first few won’t be pretty, but it’ll mean more if you make it yourself.”

“Right, right.” Alistair read through the instructions he had gotten and dropped the bar of silverite into the smelter. Daylen obligingly heated the metal with primal magic until it melted. With some help from Daylen, Alistair poured the molten metal into a mold and created a thin, wiry length of silverite. He let it cool, before carefully cutting it to size and shaping it into an appropriately-sized loop with a pair of tongs. It took a few tries for him to master the proper method for shaping and sealing the loop.

“How’d you know her size?” Daylen asked curiously as Alistair gave a victorious ‘ha!’ as he managed to seal the ring properly.

“I stole a pair of her gloves and measured the finger,” Alistair said.

“Rather resourceful of you,” Daylen remarked, keeping the smelter hot.

“Hey, I’m not just a pretty face,” Alistair replied, pouring another ring’s worth of metal into the mold. He cut and shaped this one to his own ring size, using them as references before making several more rings of both sizes. “Backups,” he said sheepishly as Daylen stared at him.

“I didn’t say a word,” Daylen protested.

“You were thinking it,” Alistair replied, grabbing a file and sitting down at the grindstone. He broke three rings before he started getting the hang of grinding and polishing the metal properly, and set the first two set aside once he felt satisfied with his skills and had gotten the metal to gleam with an even polish.

Mounting the jewels took a great deal more work, and Daylen found himself laughing at his friend’s difficulties as Alistair burned himself, damaged a stone, or in one interesting case, flung the red-hot metal of the mounting across the room in frustration, nearly setting the place on fire before Daylen quenched it.

The two broke for lunch and to let Alistair calm down, before returning to work. Alistair finally managed to mount the stones, and ruined another pair of practice rings before checking the instructions again and doing it properly.

Finally, he had a pair of unadorned but polished silverite bands made from the original two he had set aside, as well as a pair of thicker silverite rings with sapphires clustered around the central emeralds.

Alistair looked up at Daylen, his face smudged and his hair standing up at odd angles. “I think I’m done. Now what?”

Daylen opened the door. “Your turn.”

“ _Enchantment_!”

—AOTG—

“So we’re back here?” Elissa asked. “Is that wise?”

“Daylen swept the grounds first,” Alistair replied.

“ _Whuff_!”

“Cupcake helped,” Daylen translated.

“I understood him just fine,” Elissa sniffed. “So no assassins this time. Are you going to have a dragon attack the city instead?”

“I’m not planning on it, but the day’s young,” Alistair said breezily.

“No surprises, I’m keeping watch,” Daylen promised.

“Well, maybe one or two,” Alistair mumbled.

The two set off on another walk around the gardens, the Warden-Commander staying just within earshot, not wanting to miss the moment.

Alistair was staring out over the gardens, clearly nervous. “Elissa, I don’t quite know how to say this,” he began.

“You could start by looking at me,” she said gently. Alistair blushed, and met her eyes. “You could continue by letting your heart do the talking.”

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve only known each other for a short time, but I find myself feeling more strongly for you than…anyone else I’ve ever met. And while this may be rather forward of me, I…er…” he paused.

“Oh, just tell me you love me so I can say it back,” Elissa blurted out.

Alistair stared at her. “I love you.”

“And I love you, you fool.” She kissed him on the lips, and Daylen turned his head slightly, trying not to grin too widely.

When Alistair came up for air, he took a steadying breath before speaking. “Well, that makes this part easier.” Elissa gasped as he dropped to one knee, producing the ring he had made. “Elissa, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You’re the first woman I’ve ever spent the night with, and if I have my way you’ll be the last. Elissa, would you marry me?”

The woman stared at him, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock as Alistair looked hopefully up at her.

Several long, long moments passed, and Daylen coughed quietly, waiting on tenterhooks for her answer.

“Oh, yes,” she finally whispered, just barely loud enough for Alistair to hear. “Oh my goodness, yes.” She pulled him to his feet, practically smothering him in kisses. “Yes, yes, of course!”

After a minute of the two cooing to each other and nuzzling affectionately, Daylen cleared his throat. “Does this mean I have to arm-wrestle Fergus for the best man spot? I mean, he’s a better swordsman, but I can shoot lightning at disruptive guests.”

—AOTG—

“Ah, Master Wade,” Daylen greeted. “I have a project for you.” The man’s eyes lit up. “First of all, my armor could use same maintenance. Secondly, and more importantly, I’m going to be doing some traveling, and I find myself in need of something to...augment, the armor you've provided me.”

“I'm no tailor,” Wade said bluntly. “But I imagine you don't want something with silk brocade.”

“Far from it,” Daylen agreed. “I need something that will not only stand up to just about anything I face off against, but also lets me move and is comfortable to travel in. Something that incorporates my mage robes, but also communicates the fact that I kill Archdemons in my spare time. Now, I went to a tailor already, and while he can design the basics of it, he lacks the skill to work with anything more resistant than basic cowhide. He works with a tanner, and that’s rather pedestrian.”

“Well, that won't do,” Wade murmured.

“No it won't. I need someone who can bend the mightiest of materials to his will. Someone who took the bones of one of the most dangerous beasts in this country and forged them into armor. I need you, Wade. Can you do this?”

Wade thought about it for a moment. “I must admit I dislike working off of other people's designs. And you must admit, there are very few materials that would be fit for such a project.”

“Do you have any high dragon's wing membrane left over?”

Wade was silent for a moment, and then looked Daylen square in the eye. “This is going to be _fun_.”

“Just to keep Herren calm, I'm willing to shell out as much as sixty sovereigns for this,” Daylen said. “I understand that he does worry about the financial side of things.”

“Frightfully so,” Wade agreed.

“So I want to pay him to help make up for the business I cost him, and give you a challenge at the same time. Wade, are you the man for the job?”

Wade raised his chin. “I'm the _only_ man for the job. Bring me the designs and your armor. I'll start work immediately!”

—AOTG—

“What was so important you had to call me back from training?” Neria asked.

“I’ll tell you when the others arrive,” Daylen replied, moments before Nathaniel entered the room.

“Oghren’s on his way,” Nathaniel said, sitting down next to the elven mage. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when Oghren gets–” he paused as Oghren entered the room.

“All right, I’m here. Where’s the fire?”

Daylen grinned. “How do you three feel about invading Orlais?”

—AOTG—

Daylen settled the dragonskin armor down, feeling the comfortable fit again. “Perfect, Wade. Now, you said you'd finished the rest?”

“I must admit,” Wade said, “this was not an easy task. Unfamiliar designs, materials I am less used to working with, and Herren breathing down my neck.” Daylen could practically hear Herren's teeth grinding behind him. “But it is done!” Wade pulled back the sheet, and Daylen saw a set of robes laying across the table, dark red in color with noticeably thicker patches. “The exterior is dragonwing webbing, thin enough to maintain freedom of movement and not be too hot, but still strong enough to turn aside a dagger. The inside is lined with a cotton weave from Highever, so it should keep you warm in a chill. I kept the internal lyrium weave and enchanted fabrics from the robes you provided, so it should assist your magic as a standard set of Grey Warden robes would. There are sections of dragonbone plate or dragonskin mail over vital areas. For the protection of a mage, this is as good as you’re going to get.”

“Excellent, Wade, excellent,” Daylen said. “May I?” Wade nodded proudly, and Daylen picked up the robes. Shaking it open and grinning at the Grey Warden heraldry stenciled across the back, Daylen tugged the garment on over his armor. “Wade, this is perfect.”

Wade sniffed. “Adequate, for a first attempt.”

Daylen grinned. “Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have the opportunity to try again. I foresee a great deal of interpersonal conflicts in the upcoming months.”

“Well, travel safe,” Wade replied. “And...have fun.”

—AOTG—

Daylen’s boots hit the paving stones of the road outside Halamshiral, and Nathaniel stepped out of the carriage next to him. “This is quite the place,” Nathaniel commented, looking up at the palace that loomed over the city.

“It’s revolting,” Daylen said sourly. “This entire city was built by the elves, and conquered during the Exalted Marches. To add insult to injury, the Orlesians put their winter palace on top of the ruins.”

“Ferelden did many of the same things with Tevinter,” Nathaniel pointed out.

“Tevinter had it coming,” Daylen shot back. “The elves just wanted to be left alone.” Neria and Oghren had dismounted from the carriage, and the quartet were quickly shown to the local Warden outpost and given rooms. The building was sparsely decorated, but comfortable, and the Wardens changed from armor and mage robes to finely-made formal attire bearing the Warden heraldry. There was a ten-minute argument between Oghren and Daylen before the warrior finally agreed to leave his weapon behind.

The group of Grey Wardens was picked up from the compound by a carriage that contained enough precious metals to fund a small mercenary band for a year. Silver filigree was inlaid along the entire carriage, and the handles were solid gold.

“Are you kidding me?” Nathaniel blurted out as they set off. “We look like a giant target. You just paid us and even _I_ want to steal this thing.”

“Yeah, me too,” Daylen remarked, trying to pry some of the gold plating off a silk armrest. “It’s astonishing how opulent this all is.”

“And all the while, people starve in the streets,” Nathaniel said distastefully. “Good to see Orlais doesn’t treat their own people any better than they treated Ferelden during the occupation.”

—AOTG—

“Spread out and get to work,” Daylen ordered as they entered the salon.

The butler eyed him disdainfully, the man’s lip curling as he noted Daylen’s lack of a mask. “Name?”

“Daylen Amell, the Fereldan envoy.”

The man nodded. “Of course.” He cleared his throat and consulted his guest list, before addressing the crowd. “Arl Daylen Amell of Amaranthine, Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, representing His Majesty, Alistair Theirin.”

Daylen entered the party proper, mingling with the guests. Nobles and their retainers circulated, discussing politics, fashion, military matters, and the odd long-time blood feud. The power players in the room were easily identified, with dozens of people jockeying for position around them, all desperate to be seen speaking to them and trying to gain favor.

Within an hour, Daylen’s patience was running out, as he had struck up brief conversations with a variety of masked nobles, engaging in some light verbal sparring and moving on.

“Ah, welcome, Commander,” a man in a wyvern mask said in the Fereldan tongue. “Duke Charles de Montfort.”

Daylen inclined his head in greeting and replied in Orlesian. “A pleasure to be here.”

“Ah, you speak our language,” the duke noted. “I welcome the chance to practice a foreign tongue, but my grasp of the Fereldan language is not as strong as I would like it to be.”

“Are you here on business?” the lady next to him asked, a massive hat and ruff obscuring what little of her face was left uncovered by her mask. “I have heard so many curious tales of you. I cannot imagine that half of them are true.”

Daylen shrugged. “I gave up long ago trying to keep up on all the stories people tell about me. What have you heard?”

“They say you destroyed an army of the darkspawn alone, that you created a storm that tore them apart.”

Daylen shrugged. “That’s _mostly_ true. I wasn’t alone, but the storm part is essentially accurate.”

“Oh, come now,” the duke scoffed as Daylen snagged a glass of wine off a passing tray. The servant carrying the now-empty tray nodded, tucking the tray under his arm and disappearing through the crowd. “Such a feat of magic is beyond even a First Enchanter.”

“Maybe here in Orlais, but I learned to command the power of the elements from First Enchanter Irving in Ferelden,” Daylen replied calmly. “Two Wardens standing alone against a Blight is such a fantastic tale as it is that everyone involved would be subject to all sorts of wild rumors. Rumors and gossip are of little interest to a man with my responsibilities, but–”

“But the Grey Wardens have so little to do now that the Blight is over, no?” another noble interrupted. “Things must be so dreary in that backwater dump. Amaranthine, isn’t it? A rather quaint frontier post.”

Daylen raised an eyebrow, sipping at his wine. “I wasn’t aware I was addressing you, Marquis. Perhaps you should take a note from whoever didn’t warn you that doublet was a bad idea and keep your opinion to yourself.” The man’s mouth tightened behind his mask, and Daylen pressed the advantage. “As far as a Grey Warden’s duties go, a Marquis may be expected to sit around doing nothing, but if the darkspawn aren’t on the surface, we go hunting for them.” Daylen smiled sweetly. “Although I do have some free time, having defeated a Blight with no help from Orlais within a year.”

“With that foul magic that permeates your being, no doubt,” the Marquis scoffed.

Daylen nodded. “Oh, absolutely. And should you care to step outside where we wouldn’t get your blood all over these nice furnishings, I would be very happy to demonstrate my abilities for you.”

The man reached for the sword at his hip. “You diseased dog-loving–”

Daylen clicked his fingers as he took another sip of his wine, and the Marquis suddenly found his lips sealed shut with a layer of ice. “Marquis, you demonstrate an almost disturbing lack of courtesy and common sense for a man of your station, especially when speaking to a man who has faced down an Archdemon.”

“Ah, Marquis, I warned you not to aggravate the Warden-Commander,” a cultured voice called. The man was pulling at his mouth, trying to break the ice holding his mouth closed. Daylen turned, finding Empress Celene striding towards them, the crowd parting before her.

Daylen bowed with as much respect as he could muster. “Empress. A pleasure.”

“Likewise, Commander Amell. Tales of your bravery during the Blight have reached our ears. Most impressive.” She glanced at the Marquis, who was clawing at his lips. “Run along, Marquis.”

“The assistance of the Orlesian Grey Wardens was invaluable during the Thaw Hunt,” Daylen replied as the man staggered off. “Doing it all ourselves would have taken so frightfully long, you see.”

Celene smirked. “We were glad to send our Grey Wardens to assist. I am pleased to finally see an envoy from your country at a salon. Many Fereldan diplomats are so very dull, you see.”

“Well, after King Alistair and I found ourselves attacked by a group of assassins while on a hunting trip, His Majesty decided it was time to reopen diplomatic relations,” Daylen said. “They claimed to be acting on the part of Orlais, you see, but I suppose a prisoner will say anything at that point.”

“A dangerous move, to rely on such confessions,” Celene replied.

“Regardless, King Alistair requested that I attend as his envoy,” Daylen continued, swallowing as he found his mouth dry and wetting his lips with another sip of wine. “As Court Mage to the Fereldan Crown, he felt I was qualified to represent him at your salon.” He swallowed again and fought the urge to wipe sweat from his forehead. “I must admit, this is gloriously decorated.”

“Ah, it is a favored getaway of mine,” Celene remarked. “I must get back to mingling, however. Please give King Alistair my regards.”

“And please give Briala mine,” Daylen said. Celene paused, her mouth twitching behind her mask. Daylen stared her down, his mouth feeling like it was packed with sand. “Good evening, Empress.”

The woman did her best not to storm off, and Daylen swallowed hard, wiping his forehead and wondering why his head was spinning.

The duke had been watching the proceedings silently. “Warden-Commander, are you well?”

Daylen tugged at the collar of his uniform. “I must admit, I am used to much cooler climates, having spent so much of the past few years either in the Deep Roads or the southern reaches of Ferelden. This palace is indeed exquisite, but I am finding myself feeling a touch overheated.” There was a metallic tang on his tongue, and the mage finally realized what was going on.

“Such a shame,” the duke replied. It was a lie, of course. Daylen could feel the toxins he had ingested burning in his gut as his mana began to trickle away. “Perhaps we should have the next salon further south.”

“Perhaps,” Daylen replied absently. “Would you excuse me?” The duke nodded politely, and Daylen turned on his heel, striding through the crowd. He caught bits and pieces of whispered conversations, but most of it was drowned out by the pounding in his ears.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice rasping as his throat dried out. “Could I borrow my second-in-command for a moment?” Pulling Nathaniel away to a balcony, Daylen took the glass of wine from him, dumping it into a convenient potted plant. “Don’t consume anything else tonight. Have you had anything to drink or eat?”

“Nothing. I can’t stand Orlesian wine. What’s wrong?” Nathaniel asked.

“I’ve been poisoned. Magebane, mixed with some sort of toxin. What little magic I have to work with right now is keeping me conscious. Find Neria, get her over here as quickly and quietly as possible. And don’t let her or Oghren drink anything.”

It took several long minutes for Nate to return, with Neria and Oghren in tow. “Daylen, I’ve got Neria,” Nathaniel said, tapping him on the back. “And Oghren’s drunk some of the wine, I brought him along in case he was poisoned as well.”

“Oh, it was poisoned, all right,” Oghren snorted. “But I’m fine. They haven’t made a poison yet that can hurt me. I downed a couple bottles already, I’m just feeling a bit of a tingle in my fingers.”

Daylen turned, his face streaming sweat. “Neria, I need you to expunge the poison. Quickly, I’m about to pass out.” He sagged against the balcony, and Nate caught him, bearing his friend’s weight while Neria went to work.

“Maker,” the elven mage breathed. “The amount of poison in his system, he should be dead.”

“Always bet on Amell,” Oghren chuckled.

“So much for our investigation,” Nathaniel groused as Neria continued flushing the poison out of Daylen’s body. “We’ll probably be attacked on the way back to the compound, to boot.”

“Almost certainly,” Daylen gasped, suddenly regaining consciousness.

“I flushed the magebane, but you’ve still got the toxins in you,” Neria replied. Daylen nodded, closing his eyes and flaring his magic.

“Daylen, you’re…sweating green,” Nathaniel said, his eyes wide.

Daylen scrubbed at his forehead with a kerchief. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get out of here.”

“But we haven’t found what we came for,” Nathaniel protested.

“Yes we have,” Neria said. “I already slipped away.” Nathaniel glanced over in surprise. “What? You think you’re the only one who can hide?”

“Might as well make an exit,” Daylen replied. “Oghren, go find the Marquis that has his mouth frozen shut and express your displeasure. He made some crude remarks about the Wardens.”

“My pleasure,” Oghren chuckled, shouldering his way through the crowd.

“You two head for the exit,” Daylen said to Neria and Nathaniel. “I’ll meet you at the carriage.”

A few of the guests seemed surprised to see Daylen still standing, albeit slightly rumpled. He approached Celene again. “Empress, it has been a pleasure, but I’m afraid we must be going,” Daylen said, digging a sovereign out of his pocket and dropping it on the floor. “Here's for the broken window.”

The Empress made a horrible mistake. “What broken window?” She asked.

Daylen grinned, before leaping through the nearest stained-glass window with a maniacal laugh. As the glass finished clattering to the floor, screams were heard from the opposite side of the room as the Marquis collapsed to his knees, clutching his groin. “I think I’ve made my point,” Oghren said, brandishing a broken wine bottle that had the Marquis’s blood staining the jagged end. “It’s been fun, but I’m afraid I must be going.” He slammed his forehead into the Marquis’s face, flattening the man’s nose and knocking him cold. “Ladies and gentlemen, take my advice. Pull down your pants, and slide on the ice!”[2]

And with that, Oghren made as dignified an exit as a drunken dwarf carrying a broken, bloodstained bottle of wine could.

—AOTG—

“I have absolutely no sympathy for you,” Neria said, ignoring Daylen’s yelp as she yanked another piece of glass out of his skin. “What made you think jumping through a window was a good idea?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Daylen replied, sealing the injury with a quick flare of healing magic.

Nathaniel shook his head. “I suppose being discrete was out of the question?”

“Considering I had just been poisoned, yes it was.” He grimaced as Neria tugged another chunk of glass free. “So, what did you find?”

“Considering we were there for an hour, not much,” Nathaniel replied. “I barely had time to slip away and search a private study or two.”

“Really?” Neria asked, pulling out the last chunk of glass. “I searched half the estate.” Nathaniel goggled at her. “What? I learned stealth from Lawrence and shapeshifting from Avernus. If Daylen had managed to not get himself poisoned for another hour, I could have made off with every secret they had.” She jerked her head at a diplomatic pouch on a nearby table. “I stuffed all the documents I could carry in there. It looked to be encoded, but I’m guessing the cipher can be broken.”

—AOTG—

“Not quickly,” Eamon grumbled. “Our spymasters have examined the documents. They are apparently thoroughly and expertly encrypted, and it may take them the better part of a year to break it.”

Daylen groaned. “And in the meantime, we have no idea if further assassination attempts are to be made. Now what?”

Alistair stroked his chin. “Now you go home. Your job is done here, Daylen. I need you back in Amaranthine, building the Wardens and managing your arling. We’ll send word if the cipher is broken – you’re one of my best agents.”

Daylen nodded. “I’ll leave tomorrow. Nathaniel’s back at the Keep now, helping my seneschal run things. Oghren’s visiting his lady friend, apparently she’s almost due. Neria’s back at the Peak, finishing up her training. I’m the only piece that’s out of place.”

“Well, it was good seeing you again,” Alistair said. “I’m very grateful for all you’ve done over the past few weeks. You handle a poisoned glass of wine better than I do, after all.”

Daylen waved it away. “Think nothing of it. Setting the whole ‘king’ thing aside, you’re one of my nearest and dearest friends. I was glad to get poisoned for you.”

Eamon shook his head. “Maker help us all.”

—AOTG—

Daylen entered his throne room in Vigil’s Keep and collapsed into a chair. “Well, back to work.” Two hours later, he set the paperwork he was looking on down. “Shit.” Daylen looked at the rosters again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit!”

“Problems?” Nathaniel asked.

“Plenty,” Daylen growled. “I’m going to have to put Rolan and Anders on a team together. We have sightings of a darkspawn band – two ogres at least, which means there’ll be casualties – and Rolan’s group is already in that area. That’s how we have the report.”

“And they need a healer,” Nathaniel concluded.

“Right,” Daylen agreed. “Except nobody else is available. Neria’s not combat-trained, I can’t leave, and Anders is the only other skilled healer that we have around.”

“Looks like you don’t have much choice,” Nathaniel said quietly.

“No, I don’t,” Daylen sighed. “You think they can handle being around each other?”

“Well, Justice – or what’s left of him – can go with Anders,” Nathaniel offered. “He won’t be much use in a fight, but he can still help Anders.”

“True,” Daylen said, shuffling the sheets around. “Yes…that would work…”

Varel entered the room. “Commander. We’ve received a message for you from one Jerrik Dace of Orzammar.”

“The Dace family is an influential house in Orzammar,” Daylen remarked, unfolding the letter and reading aloud. “They called it Amgarrak, Victory, out of arrogance or optimism. They hoped to earn a victory for the dwarven people by recreating Caridin’s research, but the Thaig was abandoned, the researchers lost. The Deep Roads swallowed Amgarrak and our dream of reclaiming our former glory. While the darkspawn ravaged the surface, we sent and expedition to uncover the Thaig. My brother was with them. They never returned. I write to you, Warden, because you have accomplished things others have declared impossible. Help me find my brother. Bring him home. This is a matter of great sensitivity, and I can trust no one but you. Ever your humble servant, Jerrik Dace.” Daylen checked the second page of the letter. “He’s begging me to come alone and meet him in Orzammar.”

“What is this research he speaks of?” Varel asked.

“Nothing that should ever be replicated,” Daylen replied, his eyes dark. “It’s the secret of how golems were made.” He sighed. “Looks like I’m going to Orzammar.”

—AOTG—

_Anora  
“We have been given the gift of freedom by our forbearers. Let us not squander it.”_

_The only child of the war hero Loghain Mac Tir, Anora was never one to stay quietly in the background. It is common knowledge that in the five years Anora and Cailan held the throne together, she was the one wielding the power. She was held in much higher esteem than her husband by the people of Ferelden, nobility and commoners alike, and commands the respect even of foreign nations, having once inspired Empress Celene of Orlais to declare, “Anora of Ferelden is a solitary rose among brambles.”_

_She sent her maid, Erlina, to Arl Eamon's estate to ask for The Warden's help in escaping from Arl Howe, but as they fled Howe's estate, Anora in disguise, they were ambushed by Ser Cauthrien, there to arrest Howe's murderer._

_The Warden surrendered to permit Anora's escape. She made her way to Eamon's Denerim estate and there offered her aid in defeating her father at the Landsmeet._

_With her help, Loghain's support was eroded. The banns fell in line behind Eamon and the Warden. Loghain, however, would not accept defeat easily. He filled the room with troops and attempted a coup. Fighting erupted, breaking the long tradition of the Landsmeet, which was ultimately settled with a duel._

_In the end, Anora was deposed, and Alistair was given the throne. Anora disappeared from the public eye after the Battle of Denerim and has not been seen since._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1Person of Interest. [ return to text ]
> 
> 2MASH. [ return to text ]


	14. Golems of Amgarrak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden-Commander investigates Amgarrak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Surfacer Dwarves  
Cloudgazer, stone-blind, skyer--these are how dwarves describe their surfacer cousins. It's traditional to snort these words with disdain. A dwarf who goes "topside" forfeits his caste, his house, and the favor of his ancestors. Once he sets foot on the surface, he is no longer welcome in Orzammar._

_Still, in recent years a great many dwarves have moved to the surface. Some are casteless and have nothing to lose. Others believe they have something to gain. Some think it's only a matter of time before Orzammar falls to the darkspawn._

_Then there are the merchant caste dwarves with their frightful flair for business. I met one who nearly talked me into buying my own hat. I daresay most merchants don't give a nugget about losing their caste or the favor of their ancestors--not the way they're compensated!_

_\--From Tales from Beneath the Earth, by Brother Genitivi_

—AOTG—

Daylen smiled as he saw casteless dwarves working hard, looking healthier and happier than any he had seen in Dust Town. Payment was rendered to any who chose to work, and Daylen had made it abundantly clear that honest work and honest wages could also be found in Amaranthine, Vigil's Keep, and Soldier's Peak. That announcement had won the respect of the casteless dwarves more than anything else. Honest payment, humane treatment, and basic dignity were invaluable to people who had never received or expected to receive them.

A pair of Grey Wardens from the training cadre at Soldier’s Peak had been stationed at the compound in Orzammar, and Daylen checked in with them before paying his respects to Bhelen and his heir, a burbling child named after the king’s late father. Gathering his equipment, Daylen found his way to the location Jerrik Dace had asked him to come to, half-expecting an ambush.

It took less than half an hour for someone else to show up, a dark-haired dwarf with an impressive mustache and a bronto at his back. “Warden-Commander,” the dwarf said in greeting. "Jerrik Dace. Thank you for coming."

“Going to need some more details before I agree to this little venture,” Daylen replied. “Coming alone has already pushed me beyond where I’m comfortable.”

“As I mentioned in the letter, my brother was part of an expedition to locate Amgarrak and salvage what they could,” Jerrik explained. “There has been no sign or word from them, and they are long overdue to return. Down here, that means trouble.”

“Usually means trouble topside as well,” Daylen replied. “This thaig – you know where it is?”

“South-east of here, two week’s journey through the tunnels,” Jerrik said. “I’ve got a map, here.”

Daylen quickly compared it to his own maps and shook his head. “There’s a Deep Roads entrance here,” he said, tapping a spot near the thaig. “We can reach it in less than a week if we go overland.”

“Overland?” Jerrik asked skeptically. “You think I’m going to become some cloud-gazing surfacer?”

“I think you’re going to save a week’s worth of time that your brother might not have,” Daylen retorted. “If his life means that little to you, you shouldn’t have wasted my time.” He rolled up his maps, grabbing his pack off the ground.

“Wait!” Jerrik grimaced. “Fine. We’ll go overland.”

—AOTG—

“You agreed to this rather quickly,” Jerrik commented as they re-entered the Deep Roads.

“I have a vested interest in this,” Daylen replied. “The darkspawn may not be attacking the surface anymore, but that just means they’re back to attacking Orzammar. If Amgarrak was used to recreate golems and then lost to the Deep Roads, Bhelen finding it again could lead to thousands being oppressed. Worse still would be the darkspawn getting their filthy paws on it.”

Jerrik snorted. “The ‘spawn wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“You’d be surprised,” Daylen said darkly. “I encountered some capable of independent thought and clear speech.” The dwarf paled. “Yeah. I have no idea whether the one we killed was the only one, and if the darkspawn get the ability to make golems of their own? Orzammar would be lost. The entire Deep Roads would be lost, and probably most of Thedas with it.” He paused. “Isn’t this more of a job for the Legion of the Dead, though?”

“The Legion and most of Orzammar’s army are currently fighting to reclaim a half-dozen thaigs,” Jerrik explained. “From what I understand, your maps have been invaluable. Aeducan and Ortan thaig, Bownammar, Caridin’s Cross. I don’t know how long King Bhelen thinks he can hold those thaigs, but I wish him luck.” He checked the map again. “We’re getting close. Thank you again for helping me, Warden. Everyone else had given up, but I couldn’t abandon Brogan. He’s my brother.”

“I’m still wondering why you had me come alone,” Daylen said, wary for any tingles of nearby darkspawn.

“House Dace does not want the location of Amgarrak known to the rest of Orzammar,” Jerrik explained. “We sacrificed many men just to discover this place. Any knowledge found here should be ours, to do with as we please.” Daylen scowled, but Jerrik was looking ahead. “Of course Brogan is my primary concern,” Jerrik went on, “but Amgarrak hides secrets…great ones. King Bhelen told me that you were the one to look for, that if anyone could save Brogan, you could.” He paused. “I was supposed to go on the expedition, but at the last minute I had to attend to other business. Brogan went in my place, and now he’s missing.”

“I’m not sensing any darkspawn nearby,” Daylen said. “What could have happened to them? Clearly, you were expecting trouble.”

“An expedition of over twenty men doesn’t just disappear,” Jerrik replied. “There’s something in there, and I’m guessing it’s not friendly.”

Daylen squinted in the low light, holding a hand out to stop Jerrik. “Look. There’s a corpse. Is that a genlock?”

Jerrik knelt over the corpse. “No. This is one of the men we sent on the expedition. Something about this place makes me uneasy.”

Daylen spotted a pressure plate on the floor. “Looks like he stepped on a trap. But who set it?” Farther ahead, more dead dwarves were surrounding another triggered trap. Jerrik was examining the bodies when Daylen turned. “Darkspawn.” A handful of genlocks were cut down quickly between Jerrik’s blades and Daylen’s magic, and the dwarf spat on one of the dead darkspawn.

“Our men will not have fallen to such a modest number of darkspawn,” Jerrik proclaimed. “There’s something more sinister here.” The tunnel curved around, and both men and the bronto stopped short when they saw black mist flooding the cavern ahead. “Never seen anything like this. It’s not right.”

“Agreed,” Daylen murmured, feeling eddies of magic swirling about. “This is magic, whatever it is. I could try countering it, but I don’t know how that would affect the cavern.” The group slowly approached, and Daylen felt the magic begin to respond.

“Look, the mist is shifting!”

Sure enough, a path opened through the mist, and Daylen drew his staff, tapping on the bank of mist with the tip. “We’re not cutting through the mist,” Daylen pronounced, feeling resistance. “It looks like there’s only one way forward.”

‘Forward’ led them to an alcove with a deactivated golem. “This is one of Caridin’s golems, but…modified,” Jerrik said. “They must have experimented on existing golems in Amgarrak. Maybe they also learned the secret to building new ones.”

“Recreating Caridin’s work is a bad idea,” Daylen warned. “Horrible idea, even.”

“Spare me the moral judgments, Warden,” Jerrik sighed. “I wonder if this golem is still functional. There might be a control rod somewhere.” The bronto snuffled a warning, and the two men turned, spotting the mists shifting again. The path led them to another alcove, and Jerrik spotted a control rod sitting on a table. “Come on, let’s go activate it.” The golem was a great deal larger than Shale had been, and was made of steel rather than stone. It fell in alongside the bronto wordlessly and slammed its fists together, a burst of energy wiping away the mists.

“That’s new,” Daylen commented, looking around the cavern.

“Never seen a golem do _that_ before,” Jerrik said. “Look, there’s an exit.”

A handful of ghostly figures appeared ahead, and Jerrik drew his blades, only for the group to vanish in a flash of blue that staggered the mage. “Where’d they go? Did you see where they went?”

“Stay alert,” Daylen warned, wondering why his head ached. “You were right. There _is_ something sinister around here.” The tunnel opened up into a large grotto, dwarven architecture carved out of the living stone around them. “Well, we’re definitely on the right trail.” Rustling echoed down the tunnel, and Daylen grimaced. “Deepstalkers.”

A pack of the creatures were scurrying across the stone floor, but away from the group, rather than towards them. “The stalkers are running scared,” Jerrik said, “but from _what_?”

A handful of undead, a revenant, and an arcane horror turned out to be the answer. Daylen killed the horror immediately with a mage-killer spell and flung a fireball at the pack of corpses, only to find himself flying through the air towards the revenant. The Warden-Commander balled up a fist and mustered his magic, slamming a pulse of Force Magic into the revenant’s chest and collapsing its breastplate inwards. Jerrik and the bronto tore into the undead as Daylen picked himself up, kicking the revenant in the helmet to make sure it was dead. The last animated corpse fell in pieces as Jerrik’s blades whirled, and the mage ignited the bodies with a pulse of fire magic.

“Whatever’s going on in Amgarrak is related to this, and most likely causing it,” Jerrik said.

Daylen leaned on his staff, trying not to look at the fixed, rictus grin of the arcane horror on the floor. “This is the work of demons. Dwarves don’t have to deal with that – what was Amgarrak fooling around with, that demons would be involved?” He spotted a flash of blue in the corner. “Look!”

“That’s one of the men I sent on the expedition!” Jerrik said. “What’s going on here?” The ghostly dwarf vanished around a corner, and they pelted after him, finding a massive stone door and no sign of life. “This is the door to Amgarrak. We made it.” The bronto behind him snuffled, the massive horn shifting, and Jerrik glanced over at Daylen. “I should have mentioned. The bronto’s name is Snug. I found him wounded on my first mission out of Orzammar and nursed him back to health. He’s smart as you or me.”

“Good to be working with you, Snug,” Daylen said to the beast, patting it on the nose. The bronto snorted, pawing at the ground as the golem muscled the door open.

The first sign something was deeply wrong inside the thaig was how quiet it was. In other thaigs, you could hear the scuffling  of darkspawn, deepstalkers, and other vermin, the drip of water, rock shifting in the distance, and your own footsteps echoing off the walls in larger caverns. Amgarrak appeared to be completely devoid of life, and Daylen swallowed nervously, the sound seeming almost deafening.

The second warning sign was when a green barrier sprang into place behind them, sealing them inside the thaig. “What the…” Jerrik placed a hand against the barrier, pushing. “What sort of magic is this?” He jumped as Daylen discharged a burst of lightning into the barrier, the magic not even flickering as he tried to disrupt it. “Blast. We’ll have to find another exit.”

“If you’ve lured me into some sort of trap,” Daylen warned.

“I wouldn’t have bothered taking you all this way, Warden,” Jerrik snapped. “Come on. Keep your wits about you. Dozens of men have been lost here, and I’m not looking to add to that number.” He looked around the entrance hall. “This looks as good a place as any to make a temporary camp.”

“How’d you finance this operation, anyway?” Daylen asked as they unloaded. “House Dace is wealthy, but sending twenty men across the Deep Roads can’t have been cheap.”

“It wasn’t,” Jerrik replied. “Truth be told, House Dace has been strapped for coin since a business venture went badly a year ago or so. We borrowed the money for the expedition from House Tethras, and were betting we would recover something valuable enough from the thaig to come out ahead.” He sighed. “I had to borrow more from them to finance _this_ mission. At this point, I’m just hoping to break even. ‘Even’ being a live brother and enough secrets to pay off our debts.”

Daylen nodded, adjusting his sword belt and potions bandolier. “All right. Let’s go. We’ve got an expedition to recover.” He left behind a mess of glyphs and traps to cover their campsite, and they picked their way into the thaig.

The first sign of life was an odd-looking creature Daylen barely caught a glimpse of before it scurried away, its footsteps sounding like bare feet on the stone floor. It looked to have two gangly limbs sprouting from a bulbous spherical body, and a large, whiplike tail. “That thing wasn’t a dwarf, or any creature I recognize,” Jerrik said. “I don’t like this.”

They found a page ripped from a journal, and Jerrik squinted at it. “This is Darion Olmec’s writing. ‘We learned of an old laboratory called Amgarrak, where a man of Orzammar and a mage of Tevinter were attempting to recreate Caridin’s work. Amgarrak was mentioned in Branka’s notes, although why she did not pursue it is a mystery.’”

Daylen scowled. “Well, that explains a lot. If a Tevinter mage was involved, it’s a good bet that there were demons summoned. As for Branka, perhaps she didn’t think it was worth pursuing when she could go directly after the Anvil of the Void.”

Snug was sniffing at something on the ground, and moved aside as Jerrik approached to reveal a puddle of blood, large enough that someone had clearly been badly injured and dark from age. “This is…this is blood.” He looked closer. “And those are lumps of...flesh. I’m afraid of what we’ll find here.”

“Look, Jerrik, I know your family has invested a lot in this,” Daylen said, “But I strongly suggest we find your brother and get out of here while we can. Let Amgarrak rot where it is.”

Jerrik grumbled. “Let’s just keep moving.” A barrier similar to the one preventing their exit was over a doorway, and a third was blocking off another hallway, leaving only a single exit available.

Golems waited in the next chamber, two steel and two stone, and Daylen kept them petrified in place as the runic golem set to smashing them to pieces. The Warden shook his head as he looked at the golems. “What a waste.”

“Agreed,” Jerrik said. “Good tools, smashed to pieces like that.”

Daylen glared at him. “You do realize that golems are made from living, breathing dwarves, right? Robbed of their free will, trapped for an eternity in stone or steel.”

Jerrik waved it away. “A necessary sacrifice to protect Orzammar.”

Daylen grimaced, but let it go. At the far end of the hall, a chest stood against the wall. “Is it…real?” Jerrik asked, crossing to it. When he reached a hand out to touch the lid, his fingers slipped right through it. “An illusion? What magic is this?”

“Nothing good,” Daylen surmised. “I’ve never seen magic like this before. Come on. Let’s find Brogan and get out of this cursed place.” Looking too long at the chest made his head hurt, and the Warden-Commander shook himself, feeling exposed and trapped in a way he hadn’t since the Circle.

The corridors twisted and turned where a few of the walls had caved in over time. Daylen thought he heard the sound of bare feet on the floor again, but when he stopped to listen, he only heard the odd drip of water ahead.

Around the next turn in the corridor, a dwarf was standing near the wall, bright blue like the chest had been, like the waves of magic had been. “I’m not here. I’m not here,” he was muttering to himself.

“Brogan!” Jerrik gasped. “That’s him! That’s my brother!” Daylen jerked around at the sound of the mysterious creature scuttling away, but Jerrik hurried forward, reaching out to his brother. The dwarf gave no indication that he was aware of their presence.  “What’s wrong with him?” Jerrik demanded, and Nathaniel swallowed. “This…magic. This light.” Jerrik put out a hand but as with the chest it went right through. “I can’t even touch him! Brogan! Brother! Can you hear me?”

Daylen hissed a warning. “We do not want to be loud here.”

“Pitter patter, pitter patter,” Brogan whispered, twisting to stare down the hallway ahead. “Listen! The shadows, they whisper…”

“What is this?” Jerrik asked, and Daylen focused through the pain in his head. “Some sort of surfacer curse?” He stuck his arm through his brother’s chest, getting no reaction from the ghostly dwarf. “He’s here! I can see him! He’s still alive!”

“Something’s happened to him,” Daylen said. “We’ll find out what. But we can’t help him right now. We need to find out what happened to him. He can’t hear us, can’t see us, and we clearly can’t touch him.”

Jerrik grimaced, but gave a small, uncomfortable nod. “I hope you’re right, Warden. I’m not leaving this place without him.” He looked once more at his sibling. “I’m going to save you, little brother. Just hold on.”

“I think we’re being followed,” Daylen warned, hearing the scuttling noise again. “Or…something’s watching us, at least.” The tunnel led to a set of stairs, and Daylen caught sight of the creature, a fleshy lump on scuttling feet with a face that grinned like madness. It shrieked, before scampering away.

Daylen fought to control his breathing as they descended the stairs, finding a pile of ghostly bones where the creature had been standing a moment before. Other bodies were scattered around the room. “Looks like whoever this is was torn from limb from limb,” Jerrik said, finding another journal page. “‘The switches divert the lyrium streams, causing unpredictable effects. Sometimes it even alters the environment, changing it to look – even feel – different. It must be magic, but our understanding of such things is limited.’”

“Lyrium streams,” Daylen realized. “I’ve…I read about that once. It was only theoretical, there was never any record of anyone actually creating one.”

“What do you know of them?” Jerrik asked.

“Very little,” Daylen realized. “If they were created here, it’s possible that’s what happened to Brogan.”

The dwarf’s face lit up with hope. “You mean we might be able to save him?”

Daylen shook his head. “I don’t know for sure, Jerrik. I wish I had more answers for you.”

“It’s a lead,” Jerrik said firmly. “I’m not going to give up hope.”

“Whatever that creature is, though,” Daylen warned, “it’s no darkspawn. It’s not Tainted at all. And there haven’t been any darkspawn within the thaig itself.”

“Is it magic?” Jerrik asked. “That creature?” Daylen didn’t answer. “Warden, is that creature magic?”

“I don’t know,” Daylen replied irritably. “And I’m really tired of having to say that. It’s possible whatever magic that Tevinter mage brought could have created something like that. Whatever it is, it murdered an entire expedition. I’m hoping there are answers ahead.”

They searched around, trying not to step in the rotting corpses that were scattered around the room, mostly in pieces. Daylen found a note scribbled on old, moldy parchment and lit a sprite in one hand, reading aloud. “Very little remains of Caridin's writings. The memories say the Paragon destroyed much of his own research. What madness would drive him to do such a thing? King Valtor preserved what he could; thanks to him we have something to work from. Nereda, my mage colleague, believes lyrium is the key.” He shook his head. “Caridin destroyed his research because he knew how horrible it was.”

“I know these men,” Jerrik said, looking up from a pile of body parts. “They were _ripped apart_. Ancestors, what happened here?”

The next room they entered seemed to hum, a sound that made Daylen’s head hurt more and ached in his very bones. A great well full of lyrium shone above them, casting the room into blue shadows.

“What is that?” Jerrik asked. “It’s huge!” Daylen didn’t answer, straining to hear any sounds of the creature.

Daylen eyed a pedestal on the floor in front of the lyrium well, blue mist flowing from it. “The journal,” he finally said, “those notes mentioned the lyrium altering the environment. Could Brogan have touched the switches?”

“Let’s find out,” Jerrik said, reaching for the pedestal.

Daylen slapped his hand away. “We touch that, we may not be able to get back.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Jerrik argued. “This is a dead end. We have to get through. The other chambers back near the entrance were blocked with barriers. Perhaps you have to use the switches to get through?”

Daylen grimaced, and then nodded to Jerrik. The dwarven noble reached for the switch. There was a wash of blue as the lyrium well stirred, and for a moment it was too bright to even see.

“Warden!” Daylen looked up from the floor, seeing the world tinged with blue, and felt his gut churning and his head spinning. “Are you all right?”

“What happened?” Daylen slurred, clutching his forehead.

“I felt something…shift, in my gut,” Jerrik said, looking around. “And you collapsed.”

“Must have been the wave from the lyrium,” Daylen replied, sitting up. “I’m a mage, so it would hit me harder.” He flared his magic, the basic healing spell he cast blooming wildly in the altered environment. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Everything looks like…like Brogan did,” Jerrik whispered. “I have to get back to Brogan.” The only way to go was back the way they had come, but at least there were no scuttling noises. Whatever the beast that tore the expedition apart was, it couldn’t touch them in this altered realm.

In his haste, Jerrik missed the watchers, mistaking them for statues. Daylen stopped short when he spotted them, however, recognizing the outline of a revenant when he saw one. The golem bent and tore a flagstone from its place on the carved floor, smashing one of the watchers’ head in with the projectile. Vigilance neatly removed the other’s head, and Daylen glared at Jerrik. “Do not rush. You could have been killed.”

There was research equipment now, objects that had not been present in the normal world. They saw no more revenants, but the entire place felt wrong. Daylen found another ancient note, squinting against the bizarre coloring of the world to read it. “I have ordered more iron from the Miner's Guild. The shaft-rats will deny this request, citing our ‘waste’ of good iron, but I’ve prepared for this eventuality. I've come up with an alternative: the casteless. No-one will miss them, and it's far better for them to die in the service of this great experiment than to continue living their worthless lives. Nereda seems reluctant, but she is from the surface and doesn't understand. No matter, she wants the research to continue as much as I do, and will eventually come around.” He paused. “Oh, Maker, no. Don’t…don’t tell me they used _flesh_.”

Farther along, Jerrik found another journal page and read aloud. "They used not stone or metal, but flesh. Flesh of the dying, the diseased, the casteless. We found evidence of this – a putrefying construct of meat and bone. It looked awkward and headless, and the stench was unbearable.”

Daylen sighed. “They did. A flesh construct. Why. _Why_. Why do these mad bastards always have to try to out-evil each other? Did nobody stop halfway through this and think ‘yeah, maybe building a golem out of _dead bodies_ is crossing some sort of ethical line?’ That explains why Branka didn’t bother looking – presumably, even she thought whatever these researchers were up to was too heinous to use.”

“These notes could lead to reclaiming the Deep Roads,” Jerrik growled.

Daylen glared at him. “And I suppose the entire expedition is an acceptable loss? As well as however many dead dwarves it took to create a golem? How many lives are you willing to sacrifice, Jerrik?”

“Orzammar teeters on the brink, closed in. We have no more choices. We will die if we do not make the sacrifices we must.”

Daylen shook his head. “You’re wrong, but you won’t listen to me, will you. If the darkspawn take Orzammar, would you leave Orzammar, or die for pride?”

“Pride is all we have, Warden. Pride and tradition. There would be people willing to volunteer, people who would willingly make the choice to defend Orzammar. There are people there worth saving.”

Daylen sighed. “And what in this wretched place do you see worth saving, Jerrik? In Orzammar, if you used this research, if you used Caridin’s research, where does it end? Do you believe Bhelen can be trusted with such secrets? That anyone can be? You start using volunteers, sure, but when they run out, you start using criminals. Then people who oppose you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jerrik scoffed.

“That’s what happened to Caridin,” Daylen shot back. “He destroyed his research, and Valtor had Caridin put on the Anvil himself. If you want to die, so be it, but the Wardens are here to fight the Blight, not throw ourselves on darkspawn blades to protect a hole in the ground that refuses to act sensibly.” Jerrik opened his mouth to argue more, and Daylen silenced him with a glare. “Find your brother. We’re getting out of this place.”

The dwarf was where they had left him, still muttering to himself. “Brogan!” Jerrik called to him. “I’m here, you’re all right.”

“Jerrik…” Brogan murmured, peering at him wide-eyed. His face was drawn with fear. “No. No, Jerrik. Can’t stay. Get out. Go!” He wrapped his arms about himself, looking around frantically. “The light was all around! Went through me! Everyone disappeared! No. Have to hide, Jerrik. Have to hide.”

“Brogan,” Daylen said gently. “What happened?”

Brogan’s eyes continued to search the shadows, the dwarf shaking. “Died,” he rasped. “All dead! Torn apart! _Harvested_!” His eyes widened with fear and he looked to Jerrik then. “Stop it. Destroy everything. Please, find Darion!”

“Darion Olmech,” Jerrik said. “He’s a scholar who led the expedition.” He reached out to his brother, but Brogan pressed himself into the wall, shaking violently. “Brogan, listen, is Darion Olmech still alive?”

“Yes…no…no, no, no. I don’t want to be taken. Get it away. Stop the lights – don’t touch it!”

Jerrik nodded, looking at his brother tenderly. “Rest easy, Brogan. You did well.”

Daylen reached into his satchel, retrieving his flask. “Have a drink, _salroka_.” Brogan’s eyes cleared slightly, and the dwarf seized the flask, drinking greedily.

“How did you know that would work?” Jerrik asked quietly.

“Maker knows I want a drink right now,” Daylen replied. “Do you think Darion is still alive?”

“He probably has some understanding of this place,” Jerrik said. “We need to find him. I know my brother. He’s a survivor. He might be a little…confused, but his sword arm is as steady as ever.”

Daylen nodded. The corridor opened back up into the entranceway as before. Another research station stood under the strange glowing blue flame from the brazier that stood lit in that blue-tinted dimension.

“More of his journal,” Jerrik said, rifling through the workstation, upsetting some of the equipment there. “Just one line. ‘There is something in here with us.’”

Daylen took a steadying breath, wishing Brogan hadn’t drained his flask as he handed over some trail rations to the dwarf. “This isn’t the Fade. It’s like our world, but…different. There’s something altered, something laid over it.” He scratched at his beard, considering. “So they tried to make a flesh golem, using clearly a great deal of lyrium and drawing closer to the Fade. The golems Caridin made used a lot of lyrium – the Anvil of the Void was on top of a massive lyrium vein, and raw nodes were erupting through the walls. But there wasn’t anything strange like this.”

“Could it be the Tevinter mage’s involvement?” Jerrik asked.

Daylen scratched at his beard some more. “I think with enough lyrium, you can do just about anything. And with the amount of knowledge that’s been lost to the dwarves and mages, it’s possible that they came up with some combination of lyrium engineering and magic that hasn’t been replicated since. It’s all academic, though, since the research notes seem to have been lost. What really worries me is that…thing, we’ve seen scuttling around. I’ve never seen anything like it, and the way it moves…I think it might be what they made here. A festering mass of raw flesh and blood, the remnants of the Casteless and the dying. Forced into some horrific shape and animated through blood magic.”

“If it can kill darkspawn, it might be worth it,” Jerrik insisted.

“The darkspawn make monsters,” Daylen replied. “Do we want to make our own? Do we want to _become_ monsters to fight them?” He leaned against the wall as Brogan finished eating. “Whatever they did with those lyrium streams, it’s altered the thaig. Presumably permanently. That’s why we were seeing those blue flashes.”

They moved on, bypassing the blue barrier now, and finding more switches beyond it. “No, no!” Brogan whined. “Don’t touch the switches!”

“We have to,” Jerrik said softly. “This is the only way, Brogan.”

“No, not that way,” Brogan whispered. “That’s how it starts. Itchy, twitchy fingers have to touch. Have to play with everything. Then it comes and takes the itchy, twitchy fingers…you’ll see. You’ll see.”

Daylen hesitated at the switch, noting the purple mist coming from it, the color easily visible against the blue. “This thaig was broken, almost pulled out of our world by magic. Given unfettered access to all of Tevinter’s libraries and research materials and five years, I might be able to find out what happened here, and _maybe_ I could find out if it is fixable, but that’s not our concern anymore. That _creature_ , whatever it is, is our concern. It tore your expedition apart, Jerrik. It nearly killed your brother. There are many things in the Deep Roads we don’t understand, and may not have ever understood. We’re not here to understand them. We’re here to make them safe, to make sure madness like this isn’t repeated. That thing has to be destroyed. The people who created it thought as much themselves.”

“How do you know that?”

“These notes, from the people who worked in Amgarrak,” Daylen explained. “They date back to the time of the First Blight. They’re over a thousand years old – and that thing is _still here_. It’s survived this long, though I don’t know how, and the barriers we’ve seen suggest that the laboratory was designed to keep things _in_. This sort of reckless experimentation is what created the darkspawn. What good is trying to save the world if we become monsters to do it?” He sighed. “We have to destroy this place.”

Jerrik gaped at him. “No! We cannot! The secrets in this place–”

“Jerrik, that monster _ate your expedition_!” Daylen shouted, Brogan flinching at the noise. “What is there left to lose here that isn’t already gone? And as for secrets – whatever they tried here, it didn’t even work!”

“This is why we came here!” Jerrik spat.

Daylen paused, his lip curling. “I thought we came here for Brogan.” Jerrik faltered. “I didn’t agree to help you reclaim the secrets to creating golems. I came here to find your expedition, find your brother. We have. We even found out what happened – a golem, or something meant to act like one, tore them limb from limb. And they weren’t its first victims – this was a research laboratory. Workers, researchers, their support staff – and _everyone is dead_. There are already hundreds who were killed in this venture – how many more are you willing to write off, when you don’t even know what will come of it?”

Jerrik sagged. “If something can be saved of this, something…something acceptable…”

Daylen jerked his head in agreement. “We’ll save what we can.” He touched the switch and once again found himself on the floor, the world tinged purple. “Getting tired of that.” He found more ancient research notes on the table and skimmed them. “Oh, _why_. ‘A breakthrough! Nereda bound a Fade spirit to a construct of flesh and bone, and it moved! We'll have something concrete to show to the nobles and the Shaperate, once we put it back together. Someone must have overlooked a missing seam. When the construct came alive, the head tore itself from the body, and... scrambled off. Nereda says it's nothing to worry about. She's out looking for it now. In fact, that scratching at my door is probably her.’ Sure, he was probably ripped apart by the monster itself. They summoned a spirit, bound it to the flesh golem, and expected that to work out well? Talk about reckless. Criminally arrogant, even. What, they couldn’t have bound the spirit to something smaller on the first try, rather than create something that huge?” He paused, looking at the notes again. “Wait, the head tore itself free of the body – that headless corpse Darion mentioned, that must be the thing’s body.”

Jerrik paled. “So you mean that creature could be _more_ dangerous?”

“I say we don’t find out,” Daylen declared. “If we see the body, _incinerate it_. Don’t give that thing the chance to put itself together.”

They wandered the thaig’s empty rooms, Jerrik spotting some footprints. “Looks like someone was badly injured and trying to get away from something.” More revenants awaited them through the door the footprints led to, and once they were dead Daylen found another few pages from Darion’s journal.

“They called it the Harvester. They knew it was a terrible mistake and used magic to trap it within these tunnels. Our foolish greed led us here, and now we are trapped along with it. Our only hope of escape is to destroy everything: the creature, the research, the magic that sustains this place. They are all tied together. I must get to the forge, but it is locked. Only a specific combination of switches will work. I must think more on this.” Daylen turned to the next page. “It found a body – rotting flesh harvested from the dead. It ripped them all apart and used them. Pelted with heads of friends, tripped in their entrails... Ran. Still alive. Only one alive.”

“The Harvester,” Daylen mused, trying out the name. “It even sounds horrible.” They found another pedestal, and when Daylen’s head cleared he found they were back in the normal world. “Great,” Daylen said, wiping his nose and finding it bloody. “At least we’re back.”

“But that barrier is probably still in place,” Jerrik replied.

“One catastrophe at a time.” Another doorway was blocked by a barrier, this one red, and they scouted through the rest of the thaig, looking for other exits and anything they could recover. A hefty amount of treasure was guarded by a quartet of golems, but with a bit of work they smashed them to pieces, shifting between realms to catch their breath before jumping back to the normal world to continue the fight. A lone room appeared to be a control center and had multiple switches in it that allowed them to shift through various realms. Daylen pulled Jerrik’s hand away from a switch when he found blood flowing freely from his nose.

Continuing to search room by room, they eventually found a crevice in the wall, and a fallen steel golem blocking the way through it. Their runic golem hauled the metal hulk out of the way, and Daylen grimaced as he saw a dead dwarf on the other side.

“Well, we found him, poor bastard,” Jerrik said softly. “Ancestors look kindly on him.” He gently turned the body over, finding the rest of the man’s journal clutched in his arms and pulling it free, turning to the last entry. “I can still hear it out there. It knows I'm here. I cannot get back to the forge. I found a golem control rod. The golems are keeping it away for now. There's a shaft of light here. I can see my escape but I cannot reach it. The ground is too damp, the rocks too slick. I could go out there and make it quick, or…stay here. Death is certain, either way.”

They retreated to their camp, hearing no sign of the Harvester. “We’ve got enough food for a couple days, plus a trip back,” Jerrik said. “Plenty of water, too. With your abilities, I guess we’re set for healing.” He forced a smile. “Of course, if we can’t get past this barrier, none of it will matter.”

Daylen was leaning against the wall, his staff across his lap and his eyes closed. “There’s a great deal of lyrium in this place, with those streams,” he replied. “Lyrium _streams_ , to boot. Now, I know solid lyrium isn’t explosive, but the vapors are, aren’t they?”

“I’m no smith caste, but I know they ignite every now and again,” Jerrik said. “Why?”

“Liquid lyrium is rare because it's dangerous. Sure, lyrium _serum_ is used by mages all the time, I’ve consumed more than I probably should have over the years, but typically it’s found as an ore or sand. It makes me think they refined this on purpose for that mage to use it. Those switches activate the wells, make them spin. Divert them…from the forge.” Daylen’s eyes opened. “We have to go to the forge. All the streams have to converge there.”

“Lyrium is often used in forging,” Jerrik replied. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that being a mage, I can use that lyrium,” Daylen explained. “Use it to bring this whole wretched place down.”

Jerrik grunted. “I see.”

“Problem is I would have to get _into_ the forge to do it,” Daylen mused. “It must be behind that red barrier we saw – it’s the only room we haven’t explored. There was a room with multiple switches that we could probably use to shift into the red realm.”

“And you think we would be able to get back?” Jerrik asked.

Daylen frowned, closing his eyes again and thinking. “I’ll go through first, alone. If I see a pedestal on the other side, I’ll come back and bring you through after me. If there isn’t…” He sighed. “Then you and Brogan will head for the exit, and I’ll bring the whole blasted place down on my own. Diverting all the lyrium will bring down the barrier on the exit, and you’ll be able to get clear.”

“But you’ll be trapped,” Jerrik pointed out.

“In peace, vigilance,” Daylen replied. “In war, victory. In death, sacrifice. It’s what Grey Wardens do. We forge futures out of iron and blood and pain. Whatever it takes to win.”

Jerrik’s face softened. “I…Warden, too many have died here already.”

“Someone needs to make it out,” Daylen insisted. “You can’t take this place down. I can.”

“We’ll find a way to make this work,” Jerrik declared.

“And if there isn’t one, you, Brogan, and Snug _leave_ ,” Daylen ordered. “The golem will hold off the Harvester long enough for me to bury this whole thaig so deep that nobody will ever be able to find it again.” He rubbed at his face. “Get some rest.”

The two Daces dropped off to sleep soon enough, more from exhaustion than comfort, but the Warden’s own sleep eluded him. Daylen found himself staring at the runic golem, the massive steel construct watching the corridor impassively. He found himself wondering how much, if anything, the golem remembered of the past thousand years it had spent in the darkness, or if it had any memories of before its transformation. Wondering whether it had ever had its own personality, as Caridin and Shale did, or if it had always been a mute, expressionless sentinel. Whether it could even count as a living creature anymore. Where did humanity end and monster begin? Abominations, Wardens, golems, darkspawn. How far could you venture into the darkness, before you left the person behind and became the monster? How long could a Warden on his Calling be called human or elven or dwarven before the corruption in him turned him more darkspawn than anything else? How long did he have left?

"Not the time, Daylen," the mage hissed. "Get it together. Focus on the issue." Tugging his gauntlets off, Daylen rubbed his hands together, igniting a spark of magic in his palm. There was power in fire, a power that frost and lightning lacked. Fire had a life to it that touched something primal in mortals, and the Warden-Commander contemplated which elemental magics would have the greatest advantage against an atrocity such as the Harvester. Would such a mockery of life have a resistance to spirit magic? Would it be hardened against fire? The foul tissue that the spirit animated must have been safeguarded against deep rot somehow, and a research team attempting to create a golem out of flesh would have at least expected that darkspawn would use fire against it. Frost magic, despite his affinity for it, was rarely as effective as fire at destroying darkspawn or many of his other enemies. However, it and lightning magic did disorient and disrupt an enemy’s ability to move, attack, or react, allowing him more time to cast spells.

Perhaps the key to defeating this horror was the connection between the spirit and the vessel. It had been bound with blood magic, yes, but if he could sever the link, the spirit would snap back to the Fade and the physical body could be destroyed at their leisure.

Daylen turned his attention to the pouch of grenades at his belt. A handful of the flasks might be the fastest way to test the Harvester’s resistances – fire, shock, freeze, and soulrot bombs, acid flasks, and elemental grenades would quickly display which of the elements would hurt the Harvester the most. He did have a quartet of Dworkin’s high-end explosives in a padded case in his pack, but at close range those would do more harm than good.

The Warden-Commander closed his eyes, toying idly with the ring Morrigan had given him what felt like a lifetime ago. It had been months since he had felt anything through the link. Perhaps Morrigan had finally moved on, putting the events of the Blight behind her. Would she feel him die, if he had the ring on? Would it matter to her?

—AOTG—

None of them had expected a night of restful sleep, but as Brogan, Jerrik, and Daylen ate, drank, and packed up their camp, it was clear all three of them were expecting the trail rations and water to be their last meal.

“Leave the gear here by the door,” Daylen said. “When the thaig starts coming apart, there won’t be time to break camp. You’ll have to grab your packs and run for it.”

“You mean _we’ll_ have to grab them,” Jerrik corrected.

“Right. Sure.” Daylen’s eyes were dark as he worked a damp rag over the length of Spellfury, making sure there was nothing that would impede his grip or the flow of mana through the staff. Vigilance and the heartwood shield were already prepared for the fight ahead, and Daylen tightened his bandolier, before passing out the spare grenades and elfroot potions he kept in his pack. Dworkin’s explosives were attached to his belt, and Daylen tightened his laces and straps to make sure nothing would come loose at an inopportune moment.

Brogan and Jerrik were checking each other’s armor over, making sure there were no issues as Daylen ran his thumb over the ring he still wore, closing his eyes and swallowing hard before shaking his head and pulling his gauntlets on. “We’re ready,” Jerrik said.

Daylen nodded. “Let’s finish this.”

They made their way to the control room in silence, still hearing no sign of the Harvester. Daylen consulted Darion’s journal, checking back over the scratched-out combinations the Shaper had recorded before finally working through the combination. He carefully hit the switches one by one, his stomach tightening as he heard things beginning to move in the thaig, grinding and echoing off the walls.

The next flash of light knocked him flat, and Daylen felt pressure on his brain as the world went a deep and bloody red. Jerrik was standing over him. “Warden, are you all right?”

“Just fine,” Daylen lied, tasting blood in his mouth. “That one hit me a little harder than the others.”

More spiritual guardians waited for them outside, taking the shape of people rather than revenants. The group ripped them apart just the same, and Daylen could feel his magic surging, the mana permeating the world around them flaring in response to his spells.

Daylen stood at the top of the stairs, the red barrier no longer impeding them. “Jerrik, remember. If I’m not back within an hour, if you hear the sounds of fighting, just head for the exit. That thing is down there, in the forge. I can smell it.”

“So can I,” Jerrik said. “You realize, if this _is_ a forge, there has to be a switch in there to concentrate all the lyrium. It’ll pull down all the barriers. If you hit that switch…either the Harvester dies, or we’ll have set it free.”

“But no pressure, right?” Daylen asked. “I’ll be right back. I hope.”

“No, not there. Not in there,” Brogan said hurriedly, eyeing the steps downward.

Daylen crossed the barrier, hearing the scuttling of the Harvester in the dark below him and creeping down the stairs. Light bloomed through grates in the floor as the lyrium gathered below the forge, mana throbbing in the heavy, dry air. His head was splitting, and he spotted the runic pedestal with the switch they were looking for on it. Turning around, he moved back up as quickly as he could, rejoining the others. “There’s a switch. And it’s in there.”

“We’ll have to bring the barriers down to get out, which means we have to kill it,” Jerrik whispered.

“It’ll wear your face,” Brogan hissed. “Take it off in rips and strips…”

Daylen drew his sword, shifting his staff to his off hand and taking a steadying breath. They descended slowly into the forge, feeling the heat growing. The hall ended in a semicircular chamber across from the main forge, and once he hit the final switch and returned them to the normal world, Daylen spotted the Harvester in the darkness, the creature staring at them with its nightmarish grin.

As the recovered documents had indicated, the creature that had stalked them through the thaig was only the head of the beast, and Daylen spotted the rotting pile of flesh and sinew that had to be the creature’s body. The Harvester’s head pattered over towards the body, and Daylen unleashed a blast of flame reflexively, not taking into account the sheer amount of lyrium and raw mana in his immediate vicinity.

A torrent of fire thicker than a dragon’s breath streamed across the space between them, searing the massive mound of decaying meat as the Harvester scuttled over the body. Daylen flinched, nearly losing control of the spell, before drawing on the lyrium around them more, increasing the heat of the flame. The rotting flesh caught fire, and the Warden-Commander kept pouring more fire on until Spellfury began burning his fingers from the accumulated heat.

The air was distorted from the waves of heat, and for a moment Daylen thought that perhaps they had killed it, perhaps the Harvester’s head had caught enough of the flame that it was destroyed. And then the mound twitched, a horrible motion as it came to life, and then it moved in earnest.

“Well, shit,” Daylen breathed as the Harvester lurched to its feet. The monstrosity turned towards them, the rictus grin hanging open wide as its squinting eyes focused on them.

And it screamed. The noise echoed off the walls, a keening wail of pain, misery, and unending hatred that struck something within Daylen in a way that nothing had before. Jerrik and Brogan clutched at their ears, Snug whining in pain, and the golem moved itself into the path of the Harvester’s charge as the Warden-Commander dove out of the way. The Warden came to his feet, casting his mage-killer spell, hoping to disrupt the spirit’s connection to the mass of flesh that hosted it, then unleashing elemental lightning when that failed. The Harvester’s flesh blackened further under the assault, but it barely seemed to notice, smacking the golem out of the way almost dismissively and advancing on Brogan and Jerrik.

Daylen drew on the lyrium below them, casting a petrification spell on the Harvester and managing to slow its movements. Cursing, he charged forward, hacking at the creature’s back and legs with Vigilance.

The spell wore off, and the Harvester turned and backhanded him, knocking Vigilance from his hand. The blade clattered to the floor, and the Harvester stomped on it dismissively, shattering the blade.

Jerrik darted forward, slashing the creature’s arm to ribbons as Brogan smashed wildly at its midsection, the Warden-Commander surging to his feet and drawing deeper on the lyrium that was still surging into the room. He knocked the beast off-balance with a blast of Force Magic that would have crushed an ogre’s chest, before freezing its legs together with a burst of frost and hammering it with shards of rock and bolts of lightning.

With the massive pool of lyrium below them, Daylen could go all out, discarding his precise use of mana in favor of large, heavy attacks that could inflict maximum damage. He alternated bursts of primal magic with flinging grenades and flasks, two of Dworkin’s high explosives knocking the Harvester over long enough for the entire party to hack at it together. His battery of defensive spells kept him from being killed when the Harvester rounded on him, deeming him the greatest threat. When it flattened him with an overhand smash, his earth spell went out of control, the entire forge shaking violently and the archway that led to the only exit collapsing under tons of rock.

“We’re blocked in!” Jerrik shouted, pitching the last of the grenades Daylen had given him at the Harvester’s back, trying to distract it. The beast lashed out with a thick, stumplike leg, catching him in the shoulder.

The Harvester reached for the fallen mage to administer a finishing blow, only to jerk back. The golem, wrecked from the waist down, had seized hold of its leg and was determinedly pulling back. “ _Atrast tunsha_ , brother,” Daylen said softly, scuttling away backwards on all fours. “Thank you for your help.”

He dodged past the Harvester as he ran towards Jerrik and Brogan, the Harvester turning and smashing the golem into fragments of steel. The creature continued hammering after the golem had stopped moving, ripping chunks of armor off and scattering them to ensure it stayed down.

Daylen dragged his staff along the ground, a solid wall of ice springing up in front of him and cutting off the approach. The Warden sprinted around, encircling the group in a thick barrier of ice. The Harvester immediately began bashing against the ice, but the wall was several feet thick.

“We're blocked in," Jerrik rasped, twisting his arm back into its socket. "Trapped."

"So is that thing," Daylen pointed out, sending out a pulse of healing magic. "The exit collapsed, and there's no sign it can tunnel through solid rock."

"So why aren't you worried?" Jerrik asked. "I know you Wardens are nuts, but you aren't Legion. You don't plan to die."

“Everyone bunch up close and grab hold of each other. I'm about to do something incredibly dangerous and stupid, and when I do? Hold on tight to each other and jump." He reached out with his magic, feeling the sheer amount of lyrium surging through the thaig and the containment vessels beneath them. With so much power at his disposal, creating an earthquake large enough to bury the thaig would be less of a problem than making sure he didn’t collapse half the Deep Roads in the process.

"Jump where?"

"Up," Daylen said firmly, thumping the butt of his staff on the floor. The cavern shook, and Daylen nodded. "That'll do." He began rhythmically tapping the end of his staff on the floor, even as the Harvester hammered at the shield Daylen had raised.

Jerrik sheathed his blades and wrapped an arm around Brogan’s, grabbing a firm hold of Snug’s horn with the other.

"Be ready," Daylen warned, as the shaking intensified, the tapping of his staff coming faster and faster. The Harvester's blows sent a web of cracks through the ice wall, and the Warden-Commander ignored it, focusing on the insanity of what he was about to do. "Almost there…"

"He's going to bring the cavern down on us?" Brogan asked, glancing over at Jerrik.

"Not on us," Jerrik realized. "On _it_."

"We'll still be crushed! Buried!"

Daylen felt the shaking reach a fever pitch, mana surging in the air, and he nodded. "Get ready!" Mustering most of the mana he had left, he readied the spell, slamming the butt of his staff down hard.

And the fucking roof came down. Thousands of tons of solid stone dropped, the entirety of the cavern collapsing in on itself...except for one small circle of the roof, a small section that shattered upwards and outwards. " _Jump!_ " The entire group jumped into the air, holding on to one another. Daylen leapt a split-second later, grabbing Jerrik by the back of his armor and casting another spell.

The highly-concentrated blast of force magic sent the group screaming into the air, in some cases literally, as they were sent flying clear of the cavern as it collapsed. They soared upwards through the narrow tube leading towards the surface, blasting free into blazing sunshine. As the group reached the apex of their flight, Daylen glanced down, seeing the ground rippling and caving in, crushing and burying the Harvester and Amgarrak Thaig completely.

They had won. Now they just had to survive. Daylen scraped deep for more mana, casting a force field around the entire group just as his grip slipped. The protected pack fell free of his grasp, and Daylen's eyes bugged out as he realized he had saved the rest of them...and was now free-falling towards the ground alone.

The group hit the ground, the tremor rippling through the earth only partly due to the earthquake Daylen had caused. A minute later, the force field wore off, and the group broke apart, Brogan gibbering in terror, Jerrik sitting in bug-eyed silence as they came to terms with what had just happened.

Jerrik finally glanced around. “We made it. Warden?” A bird flitted to the ground next to her, blurring and resolving into Daylen's form. The mage sat there for a moment, panting. "You all right?"

The Warden-Commander's eyes snapped over to his, the man noticing Jerrik for the first time. "Turns out," Daylen replied after a moment, "that if you shit yourself as a bird, it doesn't really make a difference."

"I didn't know you could turn into a bird," Jerrik said.

"I couldn't," Daylen whispered. "Until a few moments ago."

“What a waste,” Jerrik sighed. “All of that. Everything’s lost.”

“Not everything, brother,” Brogan said. “We’re still alive. Let’s go home.”

“Home,” Daylen repeated. “We can’t be too far from Redcliffe. If we start walking, we might be able to make it there in a day or two. They know me there. We might just live through this after all.”

—AOTG—

_The Harvester  
The Harvester is the product of a misguided attempt to recreate Paragon Caridin's research to build golems for Orzammar. The researchers used the flesh of casteless dwarves as a cheap alternative to stone or steel. Fade spirits were bound to dead flesh, animating it. The creature turned out to be uncontrollable, resulting in the death of the research team._

_The Harvester appears to be a twisted construct of rotting, flailing limbs with a disproportionately large head. It is able to attach itself to, and control, larger constructs of flesh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	15. The Good And Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter full of good news, bad news, and some old characters returning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Seneschal Varel  
Varel has spent his life defending Amaranthine. When Rendon Howe was arl, Varel briefly became seneschal of Vigil's Keep, but he repeatedly objected to Howe's orders and was demoted to lower and lower ranks. Nonetheless, he continued to serve with defiance. When Howe's acts turned more sinister, Varel secretly sheltered those in need and used what little power he had to counteract the Arl's atrocities. Soon, Varel was languishing in the dungeon awaiting execution. But Howe died first._

_When the Grey Wardens took over Amaranthine, the order reappointed Varel as seneschal. Although Varel is not a Warden himself, his position as administrator of the Warden's lands makes him privy to many secrets of the order, including the Joining ritual. This rare honor is a testament to his character._

—AOTG—

It had taken four long weeks to get back to Amaranthine. Crossing overland to Redcliffe had been difficult, Daylen’s meager skills at hunting game keeping them fed. Teagan had been welcoming, although the dark looks on Daylen, Jerrik, and Brogan’s faces had clearly concerned him. They had latched on to a trading convoy headed to Orzammar, Snug’s ability to haul a wagon and the protective muscle the two dwarves and the Warden-Commander provided welcome among the traders. The Daces and the mage had gone their separate ways at Orzammar, and Daylen had hitched a ride with another convoy headed from Orzammar to Amaranthine.

By the time he arrived at Vigil’s Keep, the Warden-Commander was filthy, tired, hungry, and ragged from travel. Lieutenant Maverlies spotted him, her eyes widening. “Commander! You’re back!” She looked him over. “What happened?”

“Things I need a few dozen drinks to forget,” Daylen replied. “Is Nathaniel around?”

“Yes, ser,” Maverlies said. “Last I saw him, he was in the throne room, speaking with Seneschal Varel.”

The two men were discussing some trading matter, but their conversation died when they saw Daylen coming through the door. “You look terrible,” Nathaniel blurted out. “What happened to you?”

“A lot,” Daylen grunted, collapsing into the throne. “Are there any fires here that need my attention?”

“Nothing major,” Varel said. “Commander, last I heard you had departed for Orzammar. That was over a month ago.”

Daylen nodded gratefully as a servant appeared with a glass of wine. “Jerrik Dace wanted to locate a lost thaig called Amgarrak. It was a research center where a group of dwarves and a Tevinter mage attempted to duplicate Caridin’s work on creating golems.” Nathaniel’s face darkened as he remembered what Daylen had told him about the constructs. “Apparently, ethics and good sense were in short supply. They used _flesh_ , not steel or stone, and lacking the secret of how Caridin gave the golems life, they bound a Fade spirit to the full-sized construct, rather than anything sensible.” He downed the wine, the servant stepping forward to refill it. “Oh, thank you. The creature – they called it the Harvester – killed most or all of the research team, with someone in there managing to seal it inside the thaig. This was all sometime during the Ancient Age, mind you. Over a thousand years ago.”

“Andraste’s blood,” Nathaniel breathed.

Daylen nodded. “The thaig was lost to the ages, essentially forgotten. Then Jerrik Dace managed to find it, and sent an expedition to recover it. The expedition disappeared, so he contacted us. Apparently, King Bhelen told him that if anyone could find Jerrik’s brother, who went on the expedition, it was me. He asked for me alone because he didn’t want the location of Amgarrak to get out.” He grimaced. “They didn’t want to share the secrets with anyone else, you see. We entered the thaig and were trapped by a barrier spell, the likes of which I’d never seen before. The experiments they conducted there had…” He shook his head. “I don’t even know how to describe it. I think they may have been trying to take the thaig closer to the Fade through an inventive use of lyrium and dwarven technology that doesn’t seem to have been recreated since, and that’s probably for the best. We found Brogan, who had taken refuge in some sort of…altered realm. Jerrik and I found a journal from the expedition and some recovered notes from the original research team and managed to piece together what had happened. The Harvester tore the expedition to pieces, but it couldn’t get past the barrier at the exit.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” Varel said.

“No kidding,” Daylen replied. “We explored the thaig, found the Harvester taking refuge in the forge, and redirected all the lyrium streams there. I was going to bring the whole place down on my head to give Jerrik and Brogan time to get away.”

“Daylen,” Nathaniel rasped. “Why?”

“Because the alternative was letting that _thing_ loose in the Deep Roads,” Daylen snapped. “We were outmatched, and I was going all-out with enough lyrium to crack a mountain in half.” He quickly summarized the end of the fight and the destruction of the thaig, concluding with the long trip back to Amaranthine. “This is why some secrets should remain buried,” he finished. “Back then, perhaps things were dire enough that they felt it necessary to discard humanity and decency in the name of survival, but I cannot abide the lengths they went to.” He finished the wine. “What’s been going on here?”

“Loghain’s strike team returned recently,” Nathaniel explained. “They destroyed eleven broodmothers. Human and dwarven, mostly. Handful of elven. Two qunari.”

“Good,” Daylen replied, looking up in surprise as the same servant brought a tray of food. “You really don’t get paid enough. Thank you.” He bit into a leg of chicken, looking back to Nathaniel. “Casualties?”

“Two Warden-ensigns,” Nathaniel said somberly. “Minor wounds besides that.”

“The casualties have any family?”

“One of them had relatives, yes.”

“Contact them. Offer help. Express our condolences. Emphasize that they died keeping Ferelden safe.”

“Loghain’s already written a letter.”

“Good.”

“Unfortunately, all the news is not good,” Nathaniel said. “Rolan’s group is past due to return.”

Daylen paused. “No word at all?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Anders and Justice departed not long after you did. Three days after they were due to arrive, I sent Sigrun and a scouting team to find them. She’s due back in two days.”

“Let’s hope she has some answers,” Daylen mumbled. “I’m going to get cleaned up and get some rest. Keep me advised.”

—AOTG—

Daylen gaped at the dwarf. “What do you mean, Rolan and the strike team are dead and Anders and Justice are missing?”

“Exactly that,” Sigrun said. “We found what was left of Rolan and the rest of the Warden team – minus Anders. Rolan’s head had been torn off, and it looked like something had _eaten_ parts of the bodies. And there were dead Templars all over the place. Their armor was half-melted by some sort of blast, but they were Templars. Justice’s – er Kristoff’s – body was there, too. Dead.” She swallowed hard. “We recovered the bodies as best we could.”

“We have to find Anders,” Nathaniel declared. “And bring him back here.”

“No,” Daylen said quietly.

The archer’s jaw dropped. “No?”

“Yes, no. Anders is an escape artist, brilliant at it, really. He escaped the Circle at least seven times. If we dragged him back here, he’d simply break out. If he comes back, we’ll take him back. But he has to come to us. Hunting him down would only make us equal to the Templars in his eyes. Anders wouldn’t just kill all those people, not without good reason.”

“It may not be Anders in there anymore,” Nathaniel warned.

“And if it is? Do we just kill him on sight? Look, between Anders and a group of Templars – including a Warden recruit and former Templar who had a serious chip on his shoulder and a grudge against Anders – I’d believe that the others drew steel first. I never should have sent him there. Anders keeps his head down, that’s who he is, and I put him in that situation. We’ll find out what happened to him in time.” Daylen stroked his beard. “Contact Aura, return Kristoff’s ashes to her so she can properly mourn her husband. Maker knows she’s waited long enough.”

—AOTG—

Six months passed quietly, with no sign of Anders and regular Warden patrols tearing apart darkspawn in the Deep Roads by the hundreds. The Orlesian Grey Wardens quickly caught wind of their tactics and started patrolling their own sections of the Deep Roads more heavily, even taking part in joint missions with the Fereldan Wardens as they took the fight to the darkspawn. The Orlesians had more healers on hand, but the skills and equipment the Fereldans brought to the table made them favorites on any mission and ensured they never had to buy their own drinks. The Orlesians had shared their own tactics as well, trading texts on new forms of magic Daylen had never seen in exchange for lessons on shapeshifting and Arcane Warrior techniques. Velanna had initially been reluctant to share her Keeper techniques, but after seeing some of the skills the Orlesians were willing to share, she had relented.

The remaining members of the original Vigil’s Keep crew had just returned from another ‘hunting trip,’ as some of them had taken to calling it, and took it upon themselves to do some group bonding.

Daylen grunted in pain. "Feels like my arm is on fire," he said.

"Oh, sack up," Oghren growled, rubbing his own arm. "We all got them."

Daylen hissed in response. "I'm a mage, Oghren, we don't do pain."

Velanna rolled her eyes, lifting her hand away from his arm, the spell on her fingers dissipating. "You should know that when Keepers apply _vallaslin_ , a cry of pain is a sign the youngling is not ready to bear the markings."

"You aren't applying _vallaslin_ , you aren't a Keeper, and I'm not a child," Daylen said, glaring at her. "Now stop scolding me and put the damn tattoo on!"

"Velanna?" Sigrun asked, adjusting the shift she was wearing. "My back itches where you applied mine. Is it supposed to do that?"

"Yes, it may itch slightly for a day or so," Velanna replied. "It will fade, don't worry."

Sigrun bounced on her heels. "Good! I can't wait to see how it looks!"

Oghren and Daylen were both momentarily distracted from their discomfort by the jiggling that inevitably resulted from Sigrun's motion. Nathaniel, however, was focused on Velanna. "This is an interesting spell, Velanna," the archer said, examining his upper arm. "Is it only used for the facial tattoos among the Dalish, or do your people have other kinds of body modification?"

" _Vallaslin_ is the only thing this spell is used for, yes," Velanna replied primly. "Some other Dalish do have other tattoos, but they are applied through other methods, using ink not unlike this. So I hope you appreciate what I am doing."

"Blame her," Daylen said, pointing at Sigrun with the arm Velanna wasn't currently working on. "This whole 'tattoo ourselves with Warden heraldry' idea was hers to start with!"

"Hold still," Velanna ordered. "I'm almost finished." She squinted at Daylen's forearm a bit longer and made a few more passes with the spell, before nodding. "Done."

Daylen let out a rushed breath, before examining the tattoo and nodding. "Looks good. How and where are you going to apply yours?"

Velanna hesitated. "Well, I had hoped to have mine on my upper back, below the shoulder, but that would be impossible to do myself."

"I wouldn't presume that you'd teach me this spell so I could do it," Daylen said.

"I will teach you," she replied.

"Wow, you _have_ thawed out," Daylen muttered.

"Whether you learn it properly is the question."

"Or not," the Warden-Commander mumbled.

"Now listen closely." She ran over the workings of the spell, and Daylen paid close attention, nodding when appropriate and asking few questions. "Now, a First learning the spell is typically told to practice on harvested animal skins."

"Hey, Oghren, c'mere a second," Daylen said with a grin.

"Not a chance," the dwarf snorted. "I'll go get you an ox skin to practice on."

When all was said and done, Oghren, Keenan, Rowland, and Daylen all had their tattoos on their left forearm, Sigrun her upper back, Jukka across his right shoulder and Velanna and Serrani on their right shoulder blades. Oghren had had to be ordered to leave the room for the procedures, with Daylen citing his safety as the reason. "I need Wardens," he had said, "and if Velanna incinerates you for ogling, you're no good to me." Nathaniel had Velanna place his tattoo on his upper arm, claiming a forearm tattoo might interfere with his using a bow.

There was a knock at the door, and Velanna hurriedly pulled a shift on. “Warden-Commander,” Varel said. “A new report from Kal’Hirol. The Warden compound there has been fully established and they are assisting in patrols as the trading post in the thaig works up to full capacity.”

“Excellent,” Daylen replied. “What else?”

“Ortan Thaig has been cleared with Warden assistance, and King Bhelen extends his deepest thanks and an invitation to a celebration of the casteless that died to defend Kal’Hirol.” He shuffled through some documents. “There has also been news from Denerim. The announcements and invitations for the Royal Wedding have gone out. The Grey Wardens have been asked to attend.”

“Like there was any question,” Daylen scoffed.

“Invitations such as these are often sent as a courtesy, even if the invited party would never attend,” Varel explained. “They are used to prevent a perceived insult, as well as minimize uninvited guests.”

“It must be Lady Cousland’s hand in this,” Nathaniel remarked. “After all, you were there when he proposed. It would be stranger if you weren’t invited.”

“Alistair never had much interest in formalities, not with the people he cares for,” Daylen agreed. “Put the word out, Varel. Let’s see if any other Wardens want to come along.” He glanced over at the others. “Anyone here want to go?”

“I’ve never seen a surfacer wedding,” Sigrun said excitedly. “Can I go?”

“Of course,” Daylen said. “Jukka?”

“Someone’s got to keep her out of trouble,” the dwarf replied. “I’m in.” Sigrun pouted.

“Wouldn’t miss the pike-twirler’s wedding,” Oghren said. “I’ll never get a better chance to embarrass him.”

“I have no interest in seeing some human ceremony,” Velanna sniffed.

“Oh, come on, Velanna,” Serrani protested. “You’ll enjoy yourself. You’ll never _admit_ it, but you know you’ll enjoy yourself. I’m going.”

Velanna let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I shall accompany you to ensure no shem accosts you.”

“Whatever excuse you need,” Serrani said with a shrug.

The others agreed in short order.

—AOTG—

A few weeks later, the Wardens accompanying Daylen to Denerim arrived at the palace bearing their gifts, mostly dragonbone in various forms or useful bits of enchanted jewelry they had looted.

Eamon met them at their rooms, grinning widely behind his beard. “Ah, welcome. Daylen, I assume you’re willing to accept the post of best man?”

Daylen raised an eyebrow. “Fergus didn’t want the job?”

“Teyrn Cousland pointed out that he would need to stand as Elissa’s bridesman.”

Daylen nodded in understanding. “I’d be honored. How many weapons am I allowed to bring?”

Eamon paused. “Well, the practice of the best man being the armed guard at the wedding is rather…outdated, but with the attempt on their lives, perhaps it would be best if you were prepared.”

Daylen gave him a wry grin. “Do you really think Alistair, Elissa, Fergus, and everyone else in the wedding party won’t have at least two or three weapons on them?”

“I understand Elissa has had sheathes built into her gown,” Eamon replied. “Nevertheless, a trained battlemage would be just about the best guard we could procure.”

Daylen rubbed his hands together. “I brought my good tunic, the one without the scorch marks and bloodstains. I’ll have to arrange the bachelor party.”

—AOTG—

Daylen coughed, the taste of smoke, blood, and lyrium thick in his mouth, and he sat up, wondering why he had someone’s smallclothes stuck to his forehead with honey. He pulled the questionable underpants off his face, blinking hard through the pounding hangover and surveying the destruction around him.

By all appearances, they had managed to make it back to the palace more or less safely, although the mage had been the first one to regain consciousness. From the looks of it, they were in one of the palace’s dining rooms. Keenan, Nathaniel, and Rowland were piled against the wall, and Daylen stared at the door for a moment before realizing that it was covered in a layer of ice. Cupcake was dozing by the fireplace, embers from the previous night glowing in the hearth and Oghren leaning against the wall, standing upright and fast asleep. Snores echoed from inside his helmet, and Daylen shook his head, trying to clear the haze of fatigue and alcohol from his brain. He immediately regretted it, the pain spiking as he moved his head.

Daylen focused, flaring a healing spell and feeling the pounding in his head recede. He noticed Eamon slumped in a chair, the man’s beard pitted with scorch marks. Alistair was curled up on top of the table, his head hanging off the edge and a growing puddle of drool on the floor. Jukka was facedown underneath the table, and Daylen tilted his head, making sure he could see the dwarf breathing before he mustered his courage to try to stand.

—AOTG—

Healing spells had been passed around after the others had woken up, and they tried to reconstruct the events of the previous night. Unfortunately, nobody had any idea where they had gone, what they had done, or how everyone had made it back to the palace. The only clues they had were the smoldering corpse of a Pride demon in the courtyard, a dozen empty casks of ale scattered around the palace, and a fire that was still burning where Wonders of Thedas had once been.

That afternoon, a handful of Grey Wardens were watching a former member of their order have a rather dignified nervous breakdown. “I can’t do this,” Alistair whimpered.

“Yes you can, you love her,” Daylen replied calmly.

“Not _that_ ,” Alistair sighed. “I can’t go out there looking like this!” He gestured at the finely-made clothes that Eamon had procured for him.

Daylen looked him up and down. “You do look a touch…Orlesian in that finery.”

“I _know_!” Alistair yanked open an armoire, revealing the dragonbone plate armor Wade had forged for him. “I’ll wear this, instead.”

Daylen shrugged, tugging at the stiff collar of his Warden tunic. It was the nicest set of clothes he owned, and the other Wardens were dressed in the appropriate variations of the uniform.

Alistair quickly changed clothes, breathing easier as he donned the armor. “That’s better.” After a few moments, he regained his senses. "How's it looking out there?" Alistair asked.

Having consulted with the various planners for the wedding, Daylen was able to report immediately. "Well, the flowers aren't here yet, the minstrels you hired have been kidnapped, and a pack of mabari hounds stormed the kitchens and ate the cake."

The king nodded. "So minor problems."

Daylen shrugged again. "I took care of it. I had another florist waiting, detailed a task force of guards and Wardens to retrieve your musical entertainment, and we had a backup cake waiting. If the minstrels don't get here in time, we've got a second group standing by."

"So we're good?"

"Short of a Qunari invasion, a horde of rampaging dragons, or another Archdemon showing up, we should be fine." Daylen thought for a moment. "And that would only be a problem because I don't think we have enough extra food for too many party crashers."

"Daylen, I'm a little nervous about this," Alistair admitted.

Daylen raised an eyebrow. "Cold feet?"

"Hardly," Alistair snorted. "I'm marrying the most attractive woman in the world."

"Well that's just not true," Daylen, Nate, and Oghren said simultaneously, before all three glanced at each other suspiciously.

Alistair ignored the byplay. "I just...did we rush into this? Did I push her into marrying me? What if she says no at the last minute?"

"You're asking the right questions," Nathaniel said. "You aren't worrying whether she loves you. You aren't worrying whether you love her. You know that for sure."

"I do," Alistair agreed.

"Remember that phrase," Oghren grunted. "You'd be surprised how important it's going to be in a bit. Along with 'of course you're right, honey.'" Nathaniel snorted out a laugh, and Oghren winked at him.

Alistair still seemed unconvinced. "Look at it this way," Daylen offered. "For the rest of your life, you get to sleep with a married woman."

Alistair considered that for a moment, before clapping Daylen on the shoulder and nodding. "Fair enough. Let's do this."

"Oh," Daylen commented. "I forgot to tell you. We arranged a little surprise for you."

Alistair had faced dragons, darkspawn, and an archdemon. But he stopped short, growing pale. "What kind of surprise?"

"You're under a lot of stress, so I'll just tell you," Daylen replied. "Four words: Grey Warden Honor Guard."

Alistair's face softened. “I…” he turned away. “Blast it. I am not going to cry on my wedding day!” He felt a nudge at his shoulder, and looked up to see Daylen holding out a kerchief.

"I got choked up myself when Nate suggested it," Daylen admitted.

There was a knock at the door, and Daylen found a familiar elf waiting on the other side. “Zevran! I thought you were in Antiva!”

“I was,” Zevran said darkly. “I would not have simply shown up like this, but time was of the essence. Alistair, you are in danger.”

Alistair was tightening one of his vambraces. “Glad I changed my clothes, then.”

“You caught wind of this plot against him in Antiva?” Daylen asked.

Zevran shook his head. “No, I was in Ostwick, hunting a Crow cell. They had documents concerning the transportation of a group of Orlesian assassins from Kirkwall to Denerim, as well as their objective. The Crows were considering eliminating the competition, but unfortunately I did not discover this after the Crows were already dead.” He held up a sheaf of papers. “I know how many and their general descriptions, but not who hired them or how they plan to kill him.”

“I’ll handle this,” Daylen promised, guiding Zevran out the door. “Oghren, get the other Wardens. Nate, come with me.”

—AOTG—

The Denerim Chantry hosted the ceremony, with the Grand Cleric of Ferelden presiding. Daylen paid little attention to the trumpeters, flower arrangements, or the other decorations around the Chantry, focusing on the positioning of his Wardens. The honor guard of Wardens had formed up neatly around Alistair, each Warden watching the surroundings as surreptitiously as possible and ready to throw themselves in the way of an incoming attack. As best man, Daylen was one of the few people allowed to openly bear weapons, and Starfang was belted at his waist, his heartwood shield strapped across his back. Discretion being the better part of valor, he had left his staff behind.

The groom’s party was waiting at the altar, and as the door opened, Alistair’s jaw dropped as he caught sight of his bride.

Elissa Cousland was a fetching woman on a bad day. With a gown that Daylen estimated cost more than the walls at Vigil’s Keep, a handful of jewels glinting at her ears, throat, and wrists, her hair done up artfully, and a careful dusting of makeup, she was devastating. Alistair was staring openmouthed as she slowly proceeded up the aisle, Fergus holding her arm. Daylen started in surprise as he recognized the redhead following Elissa up the aisle, Leliana giving him a wink as she spotted Daylen’s reaction.

“Alistair, _breathe_ ,” Daylen muttered. The king sucked in a deep breath, swallowing hard.

Elissa and Fergus finally made it down to the altar, and the rand Cleric was clearly fighting a smile at Alistair goggling at her. “Hi,” she said shyly, her eyes shining.

“I am the luckiest man in Thedas,” Alistair blurted out. Elissa grinned, the Grand Cleric closed her eyes with a clearly great effort to maintain her dignified air, and Daylen bit the inside of his cheek, bowing his head slightly to hide his smile.

The Grand Cleric cleared her throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of our Maker to witness and celebrate…” Daylen glanced around, trying to spot any possible assassins lying in wait. After a few minutes of the Grand Cleric’s sermon, he spotted Keenan slipping into the back of the Chantry, nodding to Daylen. The mage returned his attention to the ceremony, just in time for the Grand Cleric to address the wedding party.

“Who gives this woman to this man?”

“As her brother, I do,” Fergus said solemnly.

“And who gives this man to this woman?”

“As his comrade and brother-in-arms, I do,” Daylen replied.

“Who vouches for this man’s character?” The Grand Cleric asked.

“I shall,” Daylen said. “He is a man of honor, valor, and decency. We have fought side-by-side in battle and served the interests of this land at great risk to ourselves, and I have never had reason to doubt him.”

“I shall vouch for him as well,” Arl Eamon called, standing up. “I have known him since he was a boy and acted as his chancellor for many months now, and I have seen a goodness and a compassion in him that I have rarely seen elsewhere.”

“As have I,” Fergus said from beside Elissa. “He has conducted himself with the highest degrees of honor and I would trust no man more to look after this woman.” That would have been the end of the traditionally needed character witnesses for Alistair, but Daylen caught the gleam in Elissa’s eye.

“I agree,” she chimed in. “He’s a sweet, gentle man, unless you intend to harm those in his charge. The heart of a lion. He’s also adorable.” A wave of quiet laughter ran through the attendees, and the Grand Cleric smiled faintly as Alistair blushed.

“And who vouches for this woman’s character?” Ideally, it would have been her father’s turn to speak up.

“I shall,” Fergus said. “I have known her all her life and have met few finer women. She is gentle enough to raise his children, strong enough to support him, and wise enough to touch his heart.”

“I shall as well,” Daylen added. “I have stood by her on the field of battle, in rebuilding after the Blight, and as we helped those in need, and have seen her display both great strength, great compassion, and great skill in navigating the world of politics. I can think of no other woman who would make as fine a Queen for Ferelden.”

“I must agree,” Leliana chimed in. “I have known her only a short time, but she has been a true and loyal friend, and a woman of virtue.”

The Grand Cleric nodded, satisfied. There had never been any doubt, but the formalities needed to be observed. “Alistair Theirin, will you take this woman into your heart to be your wife from this day forward, to have, hold, and cherish for better or worse, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

“Maker, yes,” Alistair said, staring into Elissa’s eyes.

Daylen was turning red from trying to contain his laughter and dared not make eye contact with the Grand Cleric, who was clearly amused as well.

“Elissa Cousland, will you take this man into your heart to be your husband from this day forward, to have, hold, and cherish for better or worse, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

“Absolutely,” she replied.

“You have declared your consent in the eyes of the Maker, before the assembled witnesses.” She nodded to Daylen, who held the rings out on a velvet pillow. “Affirm your vows by placing the wedding band upon the other’s finger.” Alistair plucked the unadorned wedding band he had forged from the pillow, gently taking Elissa’s hand and sliding the ring on to press against the engagement band. She did the same for him, and the Grand Cleric didn’t bother to hide her smile any longer. “Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” There was a pregnant pause as Daylen cast his glance out over the crowd, half-expecting someone to object or attack. “May the Maker watch over you, fill you with His blessings, and strengthen your union. I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

“Try and stop me,” Alistair murmured, pulling Elissa into a heartfelt kiss.

As the ceremony concluded, Daylen glanced around, still expecting an attack. He noticed Leliana had apparently vanished, along with several of his Wardens.

They moved outside, the King and their new Queen riding through Denerim in an open carriage as part of a parade to the palace, where a banquet and a ball were waiting. In the middle of the procession, Daylen glanced up to see Zevran darting along a nearby rooftop, his blades trailing blood. The Warden-Commander looked to the other side of the street, spotting a flash of red hair and fighting a smirk.

—AOTG—

It had been difficult to infiltrate the palace staff. After those other fools had failed, security had been tightened and the servants were being closely watched. The previous group had demonstrated an appalling lack of forethought when they ambushed all three targets at the same time in the palace gardens, where the guards were closest. Each of the three was a seasoned veteran and a skilled fighter, and the mage had proven skilled with a blade as well as magic. Their suicidal overconfidence in their odds against all three targets at the same time, coupled with being detected before they had gotten into position for a proper ambush, compounded with the sheer idiocy of attacking the king, the Warden-Commander, and a teyrna _in the palace gardens itself_ made it surprising not that they had failed, but that any had survived to be interrogated.

Steps had been taken to better the odds for this next attempt. With a larger team of veteran assassins and thorough planning, their chances of success had been judged to be much higher. Rather than a single massed attack that stood an even chance of getting the entire group killed at once, a long chain of avenues of attack had been plotted out.

The first attempt had been made the night before, but all six of the assassins had been killed in a fire at a local shop before they could even separate to search for their targets – the King and his new bride. Their unexplained presence at the shop and the suspiciously convenient timing of the fire had nearly prompted the team to scrub the entire mission, but their leader had insisted that they stick to the plan.

The second attempt had also failed before it could begin, with the trio of thugs accosted and killed when they had taken a wrong turn on a back street and strayed into a gang’s territory. The plan to assassinate the two nobles before they could marry had failed as well, but there were several backup plans.

The third plan had involved attacking during the ceremony – incredibly risky, but it had clearly failed as well, as the cheers after the wedding had been audible across the city. The archers stationed along the rooftops of their planned procession route obviously had been killed or had deserted their posts, as the King and Queen had arrived safely at the palace for the reception.

Things were starting to look bad, the assassin thought. The food was poisoned, of course, due to a quartet of their agents stationed in the kitchens, and he was serving drinks with the intention of poisoning the king’s cup. Four other assassins were waiting at their hideout just east of the Alienage, and two more were waiting in the stables in case additional help was needed. But as of yet, it didn’t seem as if either of their targets had even noticed the attempts on their lives.

The assassin nodded casually to a blond elf who was also serving drinks as he passed by, carefully maintaining his appearance as part of the serving staff as several nobles waiting for the arrival of the happy couple.

The newlyweds arrived, announced to cheers from the assembled nobles and persons of note. Others were announced, and a chill ran down the assassin’s spine as the butler announced the third available target. “Arl Daylen Amell, Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Hero of Ferelden, Court Mage to His Majesty, Alistair Theirin, Arl of Amaranthine, Archmage of the Circle of–”

The mage elbowed him. "Pick it up, mate, there's people waiting.” The butler nodded, and the man made his way into the chamber, plucking a glass of wine off another servant’s tray.

Food was served, wine poured, and the attendees tucked in, a drunken dwarf making more noise than was socially acceptable at one of the tables and drawing the assassin’s attention momentarily. As he turned back to his route through the crowd, a tall man in a grey tunic bumped into him, nearly knocking the assassin’s tray out of his hands. “A thousand pardons, ser,” the assassin said. “I meant no offense.”

“None taken,” the man replied, patting him on the shoulder as a woman began singing to the tune the minstrels were playing. “Be a touch more careful, yes?”

“Of course, ser,” the assassin nodded frantically, moving on. With so much activity, it was easy to slip a tiny vial from his pocket and pour the contents into the cup of wine sitting next to the King’s plate as he passed behind the banquet table. The man was currently gorging himself and barely even noticed the assassin’s presence, let alone his actions. There was a dagger at the small of the assassin’s back, concealed under his servant’s uniform and coated with the same poison he had just slipped into the King’s drink. Drawing it would mean that all their attempts had failed, however.

The servant was momentarily distracted by a flurry of new guests, a pair of gate-crashers that were angrily turned away and a pair of Dalish elves that arrived with a heavily tattooed pair of dwarves. The King raised his poisoned cup in a salute to them, before downing the wine. The assassin smirked to himself, waiting for the poison to take effect.

Ten minutes later, his smirk was gone as he realized that the King was not only still alive, but showed no signs of sickness at all. The poison should have killed him almost immediately, but the man seemed unperturbed by the poisons in his food and drink. Their reinforcements from the stables should have arrived by now, and the assassin began moving towards the King’s table again, intending to draw the dagger and finish the job personally.

He had paused behind the King and was reaching for the dagger when the man’s new bride turned to him, a dangerous glint in her eye. “I’d rather you didn’t do that. These hamhanded attempts at killing my new husband really must stop, and I’m sure the cleaning staff would rather not have to mop your blood off the floor.”

The assassin stood there for what seemed like an hour as the bottom dropped out of his stomach and cold sweat poured down his back. Finally, he snapped free of the terror clutching at his gut and started walking purposefully towards the kitchens, intending to leave as quietly as possible before fleeing for his life.

He made it almost all the way to the door when something burred into his side, and the man glanced down to see a spike of metal protruding from just below his ribs, the redhead singer smiling sweetly at him before drawing another throwing knife. The assassin broke into a run, ignoring the pain flaring in his back as another knife cut into him.

He sprinted through the kitchens, groping at his waist and finding his dagger missing as the door crashed open behind him, shouted protests echoing off the walls as the man seized a carving knife and turned a corner, finding himself facing the Warden-Commander.

“Get out of the way,” the would-be assassin snarled, brandishing the knife at Daylen. “Before Ferelden loses another Warden.”

“First off, Alistair’s fine. Your attempt failed. Your poison never made it into his drink. It was switched out with water long before you even got close.”

“Others will try,” the assassin spat, sneering at him. “They will have already.”

Then the mage did something that seriously disturbed the assassin. He smiled. “Oh, I know. Let’s walk back around the party, shall we? The blond elf serving drinks – a former Antivan Crow and a colleague of mine, an expert at stopping little ploys like yours. He prefers more ostentatious gestures when killing heads of state, but he does enjoy seeing people like you fail. The drunken dwarf who was making a mess at the banquet table – one of my Wardens, who killed four of your compatriots before they even served dinner. The tall man with the grey tunic who bumped into you and nearly knocked you over? That was Nathaniel Howe, my second-in-command, and he’s the reason you didn’t have a weapon or the poison you were supposed to slip in Alistair’s drink. Those two gate-crashers are friends of mine – they took down another two of your team that were hiding in the stables. Your hideout east of the Alienage has been taken out by three more of my Wardens, with a little assistance from a few of Alistair’s top men – that would be the dwarves and the two Dalish elves who arrived a bit late. That redheaded singer fought with me during the Blight.” Daylen eyed the man’s wounds. “And the only reason you’re still alive is because she wasn’t trying to kill you. You’re all that’s left.”

“You won’t take me alive,” the assassin warned.

The mage’s smile grew wider. “Who said I was going to try?” Raising a hand, Daylen hit the man with a bolt of lightning, killing him where he stood.

—AOTG—

Daylen sat back down at the table, picking up his knife and fork. “Matter’s settled.”

“Excellent,” Alistair said. “I didn’t expect Leliana to be here.”

“Neither did I,” Daylen admitted. “But her help was certainly appreciated.”

Alistair grinned at his wife – his _wife_ , he thought – and leaned in close, whispering in her ear. "How would you like to have sex with the most powerful man in the country tonight?"

Elissa smirked at him, before planting a kiss on his cheek and purring into his ear. "How would you like to have sex with his wife?"

The rest of the reception was a blur – dancing, singing, eating, drinking, and general revelry until the bridal couple withdrew to enjoy their wedding night. Daylen managed to slip away, intercepting them in a side hall as the two were speaking to each other quietly. The Warden-Commander coughed politely, both of them looking over with grins that even a swooping dragon couldn’t have removed.

“I got you both wedding gifts,” Daylen said. “It wasn’t easy, but I finally found Alistair something.”

“Why was _I_ the hard one to shop for?” Alistair asked defensively.

“Because you’re set for weapons,” Daylen replied. “You carry Duncan’s sword, shield, and dagger. I’d just give you Starfang, but would you ever use it?”

“Probably not,” Alistair admitted.

“And you forged the rings yourself, so jewelry was out.”

“You forged the rings?” Elissa asked.

Alistair shrugged. “I didn’t want to just buy them.”

His wife – _his wife_ – looked at him a moment before her face softened. “Every time I think I know how sweet you are, you prove me wrong.”

“So with a bit of experimentation, some lyrium, and a lot of help from Sandal, I made these,” Daylen went on, holding out a pair of amulets. “They’re enchanted – linked, so that if you’re ever apart you’ll still be able to feel and find one another.”

“They’re beautiful,” Elissa said, donning hers and examining the emerald in the center. “And they match the rings. Highever green.”

“They have a few other enchantments – they’ll enhance your vitality, and if you somehow get badly injured, they carry an enchantment that’ll heal you even from the brink of death.”

“That’s complex magic,” Alistair noted.

“Making that work knocked me out for the better part of a day,” Daylen admitted. “I also had these,” he pulled out a pair of exquisitely balanced daggers, “made for Elissa. Wade forged them out of volcanic aurum, using dwarven techniques.”

Elissa drew one of them, marveling at the weapon. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy these.”

"A word to the happy couple," Daylen said, looking to Elissa. "Your Majesty, if you would put your hand out, palm up?" Elissa complied, looking confused. "And Alistair, if you would put your hand on top of hers?" Alistair followed suit. "Congratulations, mate, that's the last time you're ever going to have the upper hand from here on out." Both newlyweds dissolved into laughter, and Daylen grinned, before putting his own hand on top of theirs. "Truly, though. Nothing but the best for you two. May you never have to worry for the one you love." He kissed both of them on the cheek, trying to pretend he wasn't getting choked up. "I'll leave you two alone now."

"Daylen," Alistair called as he turned to leave. "What did you have Sandal do to the rings?"

"Well, now that you're wearing the wedding bands as well, they'll encourage your health and vitality, as well as sharpen your wits." He grinned. "I'm afraid there's only so much they can do for you, Alistair."

"Don't worry, love, I'm here to help you," Elissa said, patting him on the cheek.

The man pouted. "You'd think that once I became king I would get some respect, but no…"

“Relax,” she said, taking his hand. “We’re together in this, now and always. I love you, Alistair.”

“I love you too,” he murmured. “I am absolutely the luckiest man in Thedas.”

There was a loud honking as Daylen blew his nose into a hanky, and both newlyweds jumped, the moment shattered. “Sorry,” the Warden-Commander said sheepishly.

—AOTG—

Daylen rejoined the party, spotting Oghren doing a handstand over a cask of ale with help from two guests. A handful of mid-level nobles were at a table, gossiping about the other attendees. Daylen paused as he overheard their conversation.

“They say he enthralled the King during the Blight, and then killed Howe so he could seduce the Cousland girl,” one lady was saying.

“I heard that the King had him seduce the girl, only to…” the two gossipy hens trailed off as Daylen cleared his throat, growing pale as he gazed at them.

“I didn’t kill Howe,” Daylen said flatly. “I have never used blood magic, and if you insist on gossiping in such a fashion, at least have the good sense to do it out of earshot of the people you’re talking about.” He shouldered past them, hearing one more comment as he walked away.

What he heard made him stop short. “He’s so dashing, isn’t he?”

“He is. I heard he seduced Queen Anora, Lady Cousland, that bard he fought with during the Blight, Bann Alfstanna, Arlessa Isolde, and Loghain’s lieutenant, that Cauthrien girl!”

"I would think that snide whispers and vicious gossip such as this would be more trouble to deal with," Daylen admitted as he rejoined the others. "After all, I haven't attended many of these fancy social affairs, and the last one I attended _did_ end in an attempted murder, but I understand that it's considered uncouth to stab someone at a formal dinner."

By the end of the evening, the attendees had eaten and drank more than was probably wise, and Daylen and Eamon were sitting in a corner with Fergus and Leliana, swapping stories and watching as Nathaniel fended off the advances of Arl Bryland’s daughter. Eventually, Daylen signaled Oghren, who staggered over and made a handful of suggestive comments concerning his prowess with the ladies and willingness to demonstrate on Habren. Nathaniel made a hasty escape as Oghren kept talking, Habren blushing a bright pink by the time Oghren finished.

The celebration slowly broke up as the guests staggered home, and Eamon commented on how the next day or two was likely to be very quiet and spectacularly unproductive, thanks to an abundance of spectacular hangovers. Fergus grimaced, before agreeing and commenting that the sheer amount of alcohol consumed would probably prevent some of the more brazen ladies he had been accosted by from remembering their actions.

Eventually, they went their separate ways, Daylen finding the bedchamber in the palace that had been designated for his use.

Daylen was relaxing in his room when he heard stomping coming down the hall, before there was a hammering at his door. The mage opened it, finding Alistair glaring at him. "Was that your idea?"

"What?" Daylen asked. "What happened?"

" _Zevran_ ," Alistair snarled.

"He's done something?"

" _He's in my bed! Naked! With a bottle of wine and some massage oils!_ "

Daylen paused. "I'm not really seeing a downside to this one, mate."

—AOTG—

_Highever  
Castle Highever has stood since the Divine Age, when it was not an independent bannorn, but merely an outpost of the growing Bannorn of Amaranthine, in the days before Amaranthine became an arling itself. The outpost of Highever was originally held by the Elstan family, cousins of the Howes. In the Age of Towers, however, Bann Conobar Elstan was murdered by his wife, Flemeth, thus ending the bloodline. Conobar's captain of the guard, Sarim Cousland, took the lands and title._

_The Couslands declared their independence from Amaranthine, starting a war that lasted 30 years. When the dust settled, Highever was on its own, and in possession of half the land that had once been southwestern Amaranthine._

_Highever became a teyrnir during the Black Age, when Haelia Cousland gathered the lords together under her banner to drive the werewolves out of their lands, earning herself the title of teyrna almost as an afterthought._

_Today, Highever is one of only two remaining teyrnirs, making the Cousland family second in rank only to the king._

_The Cousland family, however, was all but wiped out in an unexpected attack by Arl Howe of Amaranthine, and the fate of the teyrnir was left in question. Arl Howe of Amaranthine was named the new Teyrn of Highever under somewhat questionable circumstances, and his death left Highever without a Teyrn until it was revealed that not one, but two heirs of the Couslands had survived the betrayal and the Blight._

_\--From Ferelden: Folklore and History, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	16. Witch Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We kick off our final DLC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Tears in the Veil  
Studies of the Veil have never been thorough. The Tevinters once theorised that the Veil is thin in places that have seen great bloodshed. As the Chantry is so fond of reminding us, the magisters of the Imperium only once crossed physically into the Fade, the catastrophe that blackened the Golden City. As the story goes, the ritual consumed a vast quantity of lyrium and the blood of a hundred slaves. But was it the deaths that bridged the worlds, or simply the blood and lyrium? Or both?_

_Demons seize every opportunity, every tear in the Veil, to enter our world. Once the Veil is torn, it is extremely difficult to mend, some say impossible._

_– From The Lectures of First Enchanter Wenselus_

—AOTG—

It had been two and a half years to the day, Daylen thought. Two and a half years since the end of the Blight. Two and a half years since he had seen her last. Two and a half years since she had left, his child growing within her and bearing the uncorrupted soul of an Old God.

“Are you listening to me?” Nathaniel asked.

Daylen shook himself. “Amaranthine’s growing, the Wardens are doing well, Vigil’s Keep is fully renovated and Dworkin’s gone into hiding after those Qunari mercenaries tried to kill him. We’ve got a few leads on how he created those explosives, but it looks like the secret went with him. Our cross-service missions are working well, the dwarves have fully reclaimed Kal’Hirol and trade is starting to grow, and we’re making gold hand over fist as a result of all that. Did I miss anything?”

Nathaniel paused. “Er, no.” He continued talking, and Daylen nodded to Velanna as they passed in the hall, the Dalish mage smiling warmly as he caught her eye. “The Nevarran Wardens have returned from the trip you sent them on. They brought some of those flowers you mentioned, and they’ll be cultivated and samples sent to Avernus,” Nathaniel finished. “Commander, I have to ask, why the Korcari Wilds? There have been few sightings of darkspawn there since the end of the Blight.”

“Nathaniel, if there's even one genlock down that way, I want it dead on the end of a Warden's blade,” Daylen replied. “The Nevarrans are training our recruits in tracking. If there are darkspawn there, the trainers will find them, and the recruits will learn.”

Nathaniel stopped, giving Daylen a hard look. “And that's the only reason?”

Daylen shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Nathaniel sighed. “Commander…Daylen. There's been no sign of Morrigan. Not for two years. Two years, mate. Why would she return there now, if she obviously doesn't want to be found?”

Daylen rubbed his forehead. “Nate, I need you to trust me on this.”

“I do. I'm not saying this as your subordinate, but as a friend who's had trouble letting go of his own past.”

Daylen stopped, turning on his heel. “Morrigan is  _not my past_.”

Nathaniel held up his hands, taking a step back. “Fine. But answer me this. Have you found  _any_ evidence of her or her movements since you arrived in Amaranthine?”

The Warden-Commander closed his eyes for a moment. “Walk with me.” The two entered his quarters, passing the fireplace and the half-made bed. Standing next to his desk, Daylen pulled a Warden pendant from the desk and fiddled with it a moment. The pendant blossomed open into an entirely new shape, and the Warden-Commander fit the key into a recess on the wall, twisting the lock open. The wall slid back, revealing a hidden room.

“Did you have this made?” Nathaniel asked, stepping into the room after him.

Daylen scoffed. “No, just refitted. I guess the original builders saw the need for a hidden cache of some sort.” He clicked his fingers, sending several tiny wisps of magic floating around the room.

Nathaniel whistled as he looked around. “Goodness, Daylen.” Several armor and weapons racks sat along the wall, with a variety of instruments of war within them. “Staves, axes, maces and warhammers, swords, daggers, bows…” He looked at his commander. “Can you even _use_ half of these weapons?”

“Some of them better than others. If the Keep was ever besieged badly enough that we had to fall back this far, I didn't want anyone without a weapon or armor.” He looked around the room. “Any Warden who could make it here would be able to outfit themselves however they wished.”

Nathaniel was examining a set of leathers. “These are dragonhide?”

“I cut a deal with Levi Dryden, out at Soldier's Peak,” Daylen said. “Wade might be better for the truly exotic weapons and armor, but Levi's brother Mikhael has a higher output of dragonbone and dragonhide equipment.”

“I was wondering where all those new sets of armor were coming from,” Nathaniel muttered, peering deeper into the room. “What else is there in here?” Spotting a map of Thedas on a worktable next to an open book, he noted a thin sheet of glass overlaying the map with dozens of markings on it, with dates and reference numbers on each point. “These numbers, they correspond to something in particular?”

Daylen nodded, indicating the open book. “This journal. I've been recording any sightings, rumors, or signs of Morrigan's presence, along with where they were and when they were.” He sat down on a nearby stool, exhaling slowly. “I’ve been trying to reconstruct her movements to see if I could figure out what she was thinking or where she was planning to go next, but…” He ran a hand through his hair. “There's not enough of a pattern. But I know she's back in Ferelden now.”

“What makes you so sure?” Nathaniel asked, finding the most recent point on the map and checking the entry. “Says here the last entry was a possible sighting of a lone woman matching her description at a border crossing. Except the woman was going  _into_ Orlais, not coming to Ferelden.”

“Nate, you know as well as I do there are a hundred different ways to cross the border without being detected. And she can turn into a bird, amongst other animals.”

Nathaniel winced. “That would make it easier to move between countries, at that. But you haven't answered my question. Why do you think she's in Ferelden?”

“I was in Denerim last week, as you know,” Daylen explained, standing up and opening a drawer next to the map table.

“Right, you were updating the King on the state of the arling.”

“That’s correct,” Daylen said, rooting around in the drawer. “I was in the market when I found this.” He held up the object in question, light glinting off the metal.

“A necklace,” Nathaniel said slowly.

“Morrigan's necklace,” Daylen replied. “It's one-of-a-kind. She made it herself. And she never took it off.”

“You're sure that's hers? Not some copy someone made?”

“I would know this anywhere,” Daylen said firmly. “It's hers. Why she would part with it is the issue.” He sat down on the stool again, the necklace clutched in his hand.

“So that's what's been getting to you,” Nathaniel realized. “You're puzzling over this.”

“She had to know I would be there,” Daylen said, tossing the necklace on the table. “She can locate me through this ring and she would have known I was in Denerim. Yet she left this particular necklace, one that she knows full well would stand out in a Denerim stall and could be easily linked to her. Why?”

“Any ideas?”

“Several, none that make sense,” Daylen muttered. “She could be taunting me, but that's not her style, there's too much risk to her to leave  _this_ necklace. It's too obvious. She could be desperate for money, but she's never been hesitant about theft, and I know she's capable of picking pockets. Or she could be sending me a message, dropping a hint, but if that's the case, why not just come here? I'm not a hard man to find.”

“Maybe she wants to meet you on her terms,” Nathaniel suggested.

Daylen opened his mouth, before closing it. “I hadn't thought of that,” he admitted, fiddling with the ring she had given him. “She could easily be drawing me out. Why, I don't know.”

“She could be trying to kill you. She wouldn't be the first.”

“That doesn't entirely make sense, but I suppose.” Daylen smoothed his beard down. “I've caught some of her emotions through the ring. Sorrow, regret…I doubt she wants to kill me. But none of this tells me where she is now, nor does it tell me what she's planning.”

“So you have two options, if those scouts have any news of her presence,” Nathaniel said. “Ignore it, which we both know you can't do, or go.”

“The Wardens are strong, stable, and sustaining themselves,” Daylen said quietly. “If there was ever a time I could take some time for personal business…”

“It would be now,” Nathaniel finished. “I'll keep your seat warm, Daylen.”

“Thanks, Nate.”

It didn’t take long to prepare to leave – Daylen grabbed his satchel and bandolier from the stand by the door, slinging Spellfury and his shield over his shoulder and hanging the hilt of his newest weapon from his belt. Cupcake fell in beside him, the mage pausing to speak with the newly returned Nevarran Wardens and confirming that they had seen a woman in the Korcari Wilds that resembled Morrigan.

The two left on a loaded wagon less than two hours later.

—AOTG—

It took only a few days to reach the remains of Lothering. The Wardens and the army had set anything that bore the slightest trace of the Taint on fire, scorching it thoroughly with magic and fire to ensure that the land could eventually be resettled. Dozens of workers, miners, and builders were busily clearing away rubble, digging a well, and rebuilding the town square. Alistair had extended a line of credit to Ceorlic so the village could be rebuilt, an attempt to build bridges with the sole noble that had sided with Loghain at the Landsmeet. Ceorlic’s father had been a supporter of the Orlesian regime, and his men had been party to the murder of Alistair’s grandmother. And whether out of some sense of misplaced loyalty, fear of Loghain’s army due to the proximity of his lands to those Loghain used to rule, or sheer stupidity, Ceorlic had managed to follow his father’s footsteps in supporting a regicide. The Southern Bannorn had _not_ welcomed their bann back lightly, and Alistair had offered the man a chance at redemption by giving him the funds and political support necessary to rebuild the first village that had fallen to the Fifth Blight.

Ceorlic’s soldiers were patrolling the outskirts of town, a few recognizing the Warden-Commander or his hound and nodding respectfully. The Chantry had been one of the first structures rebuilt, and a Templar gave him a wary glance as they passed by.

The wagon bore a shipment of granite that Woolsey had cut a trade deal with Ceorlic for, and the Warden-Commander dropped it off at the Chantry, allowing a few villagers who had fallen ill or been injured in the rebuilding effort to avail themselves of his healing services.

One had to support the positive public image of mages whenever possible, after all.

Daylen purchased a hot meal – his last for a while, he predicted – and some fresh trail rations before the two set out farther south, pushing deep into the Wilds.

—AOTG—

The place looked just as run-down as it had before, Daylen mused. Two and a half years with no maintenance hadn’t done the hut any favors, either, although a trickle of fresh smoke was running from the hut’s chimney. A shiver ran up his spine as he remembered the last time he had seen this hut – his pelvis broken, the corpse of the transformed Flemeth smoking slightly on the hillock next to the hut. So much about the woman remained a mystery – whether she was truly an abomination or something more, what her intentions towards Morrigan had been, why she _really_ saved the Grey Wardens, and whether she still lived despite her apparent death at the hands of Daylen and his companions. As with everything concerning Morrigan, Daylen had far too many questions and not nearly enough answers.

The surrounding area came into view as he crested the ridge, and Daylen’s jaw dropped.

The corpse was gone. Flemeth had shapeshifted into a High Dragon, and the group had left the carcass behind. Three years of rot and scavengers wouldn’t have, couldn’t have removed it, but beyond half-covered scorch marks and furrows in the earth, there was no sign there had ever been a body there. The chill that went down Daylen’s spine wasn’t from the cold breeze blowing.

Cupcake whined at his side, and Daylen knelt next to him. “I’m glad you’re here. I couldn’t do this alone.” He scratched behind the hound’s ears. “Our scouts saw a woman in this area. Do you think it’s Morrigan?” The dog whined again in response. “We’ll find Morrigan, I promise.” The dog barked happily, and Daylen smiled sadly as the dog licked his face.

Leaving his weapons sheathed, Daylen slowly made his way down the trail to the hut, a prickling across the back of his neck leaving him anxious. Cupcake followed at his heel, the dog’s ears twitching alertly as he listened for any enemies lying in wait.

The hut was much as Daylen remembered it – shabby, dusty, and cluttered, although beyond a crackling fire in the fireplace, there was no sign anyone had lived in the hut since Sten had come sailing through the wooden door during the fight with Flemeth. A chest at the foot of the bed lay thrown open, presumably left open by Leliana when she had searched the hut for Flemeth’s grimoire.

Daylen was glancing over the contents of the room, searching for any sign of what Morrigan or anyone else would have returned to this hut for when Cupcake growled menacingly, his hackles raised and ears flattened back against his head.

A redheaded elf in finely crafted armor stepped out from the back room of the hut, a sword in her hand, another still sheathed at her waist, and a bow across her back. “Not another step! What are you doing here?” Cupcake growled at the drawn weapon, and the elf fell into a ready guard. Daylen spotted Dalish tattoos on her face in the flickering light. “Call off your hound, shem!”

“Andaran atish’an,” Daylen said quietly. The elf’s eyes flicked up to him momentarily, and she frowned. “Easy there, boy. Don’t make her nervous.” He made no move to draw his own weapons. “Lower your weapon.”

“Then tell him to back down,” the elf insisted. Cupcake growled again, and the elf sighed. “Fine!” She sheathed her sword, and Cupcake relaxed, but only slightly.

“Cupcake, back off,” Daylen ordered, and the hound stepped back a few times, still keeping his eyes on the elf. “So, what have we here? Are you a scavenger, or just an intruder?”

“How do you know I don’t live here?” the elf challenged.

“Because I know who owns – well, owned – this hut,” Daylen replied. “And I know that nobody has lived here for over two years. And I know that Dalish elves don’t bother coming this far south – the aravels get caught up in the marshy ground.”

“You seem to know a lot,” the elf said warily.

“I get paid to,” Daylen replied. “What brings you here?”

“I am Ariane, of the Dalish people. My Keeper sent me to find Asha’bellanar – the Woman of Many Years.”

Daylen winced. “You’re looking for Flemeth? She’s…a bit dead.”

“Many have tried to kill Asha’bellanar in the past,” Ariane said. “Do not claim victory until a few centuries have passed with no sight of her.”

“That was no victory,” Daylen replied. “And I’m not certain she’s dead, but she’s certainly doing a good impression of it, at least for now. Why were you looking for her?”

“We thought she could help us find her daughter, Morrigan.” Daylen leaned back slightly, and Ariane’s face darkened. “The young witch has caused trouble for my clan. Has she earned your ire as well?”

“It’s a long and complicated story,” Daylen said. “She’s a friend. Perhaps more, once, or now…” he grimaced. “I don’t know. I fought with her during the Blight, and I’m concerned for her.”

Ariane raised an eyebrow. “A friend? Of all the words associated with a Witch of the Wilds, those are the last I expected. Perhaps you can reason with her, then. Morrigan stole an ancient book my clan has guarded since the days of Arlathan. We were the only ones with such a piece of our history.” She turned, looking into the fire. “Everything we once had, all legacy of our ancient magics were stripped from us. First by the Tevinter magisters, then by the wretched Circle. And Morrigan took what little was left.”

“Historical value aside, what’s so special about this book?” Daylen asked.

“For almost two thousand years, the Dalish people have been wanderers, a shadow of what we once were. This book – as much of a mystery as it is to us – is one of the only clues on how to reclaim that past. My Keeper, Solan, says it was a treatise on something the ancients called ‘Eluvian.’ The word is as old as the book itself, and its meaning has been lost. Save perhaps to Morrigan.”

“Morrigan, and a fair amount of the Circle,” Daylen replied. “I’m familiar with the term.” Ariane’s eyes widened. “It means looking glass or mirror. About this book – how do you know Morrigan stole it?”

“One month ago, she visited our clan in the name of friendship, and took great interest in our history. She knew _exactly_ what she was looking for. The Keeper allowed her to see the book. Two nights later, it was gone.”

Daylen winced. “Blast it, Morrigan. Ariane, I realize you have no reason to trust me, but maybe introducing myself will help a bit with that. My name is Daylen Amell. I’m the Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”

“ _The_ Warden?” Ariane asked. Daylen nodded. “We are familiar with your exploits. Keeper Lanaya passed on word of your deeds for the Dalish.”

Daylen shrugged. “I needed their assistance, but even had I not, I would have done my best to assist them. Would you consider working with me to find Morrigan?”

“Absolutely,” Ariane said immediately. “The Book of Eluvian was reclaimed for my clan by an elven mage, who stole it from the Circle of Magi before defecting. He said other similar treasures remain in the library, but they would never allow a Dalish to view them. Perhaps you will meet a different reception.”

“The Circle owes me several dozen favors,” Daylen offered. “I’ll get us in.”

“Ma serannas, I look forward to working with you.”

They had barely quenched the fire and stepped back outside when Daylen grimaced and Cupcake growled. “Be alert. There’s darkspawn nearby.” An arrow sank into the wood of the hut’s wall next to them, and Ariane drew her bow, returning fire as a group of hurlocks charged them. Cupcake barreled forward, hamstringing the lead hurlock as he darted past and knocking another darkspawn off its feet. A bolus of lightning magic was swirling around Daylen’s hands as Ariane dropped another hurlock with an arrow through the face, and the mage released the spell, arcing the lightning from one darkspawn to another. As quickly as the fight had started, it was over, the last hurlock hitting the group in a twitching, smoldering heap.

“I had heard stories of your power, but this is…” Ariane surveyed the destruction. “Seeing it is quite different.”

“Stay back,” Daylen warned. “The bodies need to be disposed of. I’m immune to the Taint. You’re not.” It took only a few minutes to pile the bodies up and incinerate them, a plume of oily black smoke rising into the air.

—AOTG—

“When I left the clan, I never expected that I would be traveling with a sh-Warden,” Ariane said that night as they shared some trail rations.

Daylen smirked at her last-second word change. “Stick around, you’ll see all kinds of bizarre things traveling with me. The Fereldan Wardens do have several Dalish elves, so I’m relatively familiar with your customs, but I can understand you not knowing how exactly to deal with me.” Cupcake _whuffed_. “Yeah, yeah, or how to deal with him.”

“Your hound is all right,” Ariane said, scratching the dog behind the ears. “Smelly, but all right.” The dog barked happily.

“I haven’t seen him kill a darkspawn by stinking at it, but there’s time yet.”

“So,” Ariane began. “Tell me more about Morrigan. What is she like?”

“She stayed with your clan,” Daylen said. “I haven’t seen her in almost three years. You might know better than me.”

“I didn’t speak with her at any length, and clearly she was there under false pretenses. You traveled with her, fought alongside her, and count her as a friend.”

Daylen shrugged. “All right. The full story would take far more time than we have, but here’s the short version. Morrigan’s mother Flemeth – Asha’bellanar to you, I suppose – saved Alistair and I from certain death at Ostagar. Her price was taking Morrigan with us. She stood with us through the length of the Blight, and she was a valuable member of the group. Morrigan is…an oddity. She respects power, yes, but the way she was raised made her the way she is – acerbic, sarcastic, a bit vain, and standoffish despite how lonely she is on the inside. I know for a fact that I was the first friend she had ever had in her life, and I think she was the only real innocent among my companions – she barely had any contact with anyone beside her mother growing up. She really didn’t know how to handle altruism or compassion because of how Flemeth raised her. Sure, Morrigan was well-schooled in magic and history, but she was truly alone before she left with us. And that was _before_ she had me kill Flemeth.”

“Which I am still not convinced you did,” Ariane interjected.

“Neither am I,” Daylen admitted. “Morrigan didn’t quite believe it either, but she turned into a dragon when we fought her, and the corpse of the dragon was gone – it would have still been next to the hut where you and I met. Regardless, Flemeth was planning to steal Morrigan’s body, so we killed Flemeth, or at least inconvenienced her a bit. Morrigan wasn’t much for sympathy, gratitude, or most social mores, but she knew I had risked a great deal for her. During the Blight, we started a relationship. She was only interested in the…physical aspect, and that was common enough at the Circle, but somewhere along the way, we both found ourselves in deeper than we had expected or planned.”

“That must have been a shock.”

“She begged me to say I wasn’t attached,” Daylen said. “I couldn’t.”

“That can’t have been easy for you to deal with.”

“At the Circle, you don’t get attached,” Daylen said softly. “You don’t let it happen, because that person – or you – could be dead, or Tranquil, or transferred to another Circle, at any time. I didn’t even realize what was happening until long after I fell in love with her.” He paused. “Yes, she has her faults. Her shapeshifting is almost certainly old Dalish magic, but she has no intention of sharing it with the clans. She’s stubborn, arrogant, selfish, and secretive, and demonstrated an interest in preserving old magics at any cost. It’s an admirable goal, but the lengths she was willing to go to?” Daylen shook his head. “I still love her. I do. But I have so many questions for her, and…” Daylen lowered his head, cradling it in his hands. “Maker, _she has my child_.”

“She stole your child?” Ariane asked.

“Well, ‘stole’ is kind of a strong word, considering she’s the mother,” Daylen replied, not looking up. “The child would have been conceived right before the end of the Blight. Be almost two years old, now.”

“I…I’m sorry,” Ariane said after a long pause.

“Don’t be,” Daylen replied. “I knew it would happen. I want to see her again, get some answers, see my child if I can. If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be. If she wants to talk, she’ll let us find her. The real question is, if we do find her, is that going to be the last time I see her?”

—AOTG—

“I hate this place,” Daylen muttered as they approached the tower’s door.

“I can understand that,” Ariane said softly. “The tales we have heard of the Circle paint a grim picture.”

“Whatever you’ve heard, it’s probably worse,” Daylen replied. “The mages that are raised within the Circle are so used to the way they’re treated that they barely understand how awful it is.”

“You seem reasonably well-adjusted,” Ariane commented.

“I spent some time at a different Circle and learned from a few enchanters that had spent time in the real world,” Daylen explained. “And two years outside the Circle will give anyone a decent grasp of how things work outside.” The doors opened, and Daylen glanced to his new companion as they entered. “Let me do the talking.”

There was a Templar waiting inside, and Daylen glanced at the man’s armor, the rank markings identifying him as a Knight-Captain. “Welcome to Ferelden’s Circle of Magi,” the man said. “Please, keep your hound under control. Some of the apprentices are easily startled.”

“Cupcake won’t hurt anybody,” Daylen promised. “Drool on them, sure. Beg piteously for ear scratches, definitely.” The dog whined indignantly. “Oh, come on, you know it’s true.”

The Knight-Captain raised an eyebrow at the byplay. “And I see you have a Dalish elf with you.”

“Is that a problem?” Ariane asked.

Daylen paused. “She has a point. What’s your grudge against the Dalish?”

The Knight-Captain hesitated. “I have no problem with the Dalish, you must understand…”

“All I understand is that you seem hesitant to let me in,” Ariane interrupted. “What is it you think? That most Dalish are common thieves?”

“I think you owe her an apology,” Daylen added.

“I…am sorry,” The Knight-Captain said, almost as if he couldn’t believe he was saying it. “The Circle is glad to have you as a guest.” He looked to Daylen. “As you can see, things are much changed from when you were last here.”

“I can see that,” Daylen commented. “Why, you almost can’t tell at all that the Templars abandoned their duties and left dozens of innocent mages to die.” The Templar’s face tightened slightly at the jab. “And then had to have their mess cleaned up by a handful of fighters in less than a day because they were too cowardly to do their jobs.” The Templar was practically glaring at him, but Daylen pretended not to notice. “But enough about the incompetence of the Chantry. Who are you, and where’s Greagoir?”

“The Knight-Commander is in Denerim, attending to some important business,” he replied stiffly. “I am Knight-Captain Hadley, and I lead the Templars in the Knight-Commander’s absence.”

“Where’s First Enchanter Irving?” Daylen asked.

“Last I saw, he was in the library, mentoring some apprentices,” Hadley said.

“Excellent. I require use of the library, and wanted to pay my respects to Irving anyway. Excuse us.”

“I see why Keeper Solan did not want me to come here,” Ariane said quietly as they walked along the hall past the dormitories. “It is all too tempting to overturn the tight order of their little world…”

“Mess with the Templars all you like, but leave the mages alone,” Daylen replied. “That incident I mentioned was…not easy, on them. The vast majority of the mages died, and the Templars were planning to kill the rest when I arrived.”

“Hey, it’s him!” A mage hissed to her friend as they passed. “The one who was involved in the Jowan incident.”

“Jowan,” her friend scoffed. “Now there’s a mistake of nature if I ever saw one.” 

“Oh, he wasn’t so bad. Good for a laugh if I remember.”

Her friend snorted. “If you ever lose Jowan, you can always find him flailing about in the giant gulf between his intentions and their actual consequences.”

“Funny how the Templars never thought of that when he ran away,” the first mage quipped.

“Funny how you seem to think I’m deaf,” Daylen said lightly. Both mages flinched. “Jowan is a Grey Warden, now, and a good one at that.”

“I-I’m sorry, Warden,” the second mage said. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Yet you did anyway,” Daylen replied. “Here you are, in the gulf between your intentions and their actual consequences.” Without waiting for a reply, they moved on, whispers following them from other sources as they entered the library.

“Have you heard the stories about the Hero of Ferelden? Apparently, he once took on a lady pirate and three greased nugs…between the sheets!”

“No!” Another mage gasped.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” she promised.

“Write it down and send me a copy,” Daylen called. He glanced to Ariane, lowering his voice. “For the record, it was a lady pirate and an Antivan Crow I recruited, back during the Blight. No nugs were involved. But that was before Morrigan and I…” He paused, unconsciously fiddling with the ring on his hand. “Never mind.”

The group picked their way through the library, and Daylen paused and backed up a few steps when he heard a familiar, gleeful voice. “Sandal? What are you doing here?”

“Enchantment!” Cupcake barked happily at the sight of his friend, and Sandal grinned. “Hello doggy!”

“Sandal is staying at the tower for a while,” Irving commented from behind them, making Daylen jump. “The Tranquil are evaluating his enchanting abilities, and learning a great deal from him in turn. His father is trading in Redcliffe.”

Daylen nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Sandal is, of course, free to leave at any time.”

“Of course,” Irving replied. “The Templars would have no right to restrict his movements.”

“Besides needing to maintain their monopoly on enchanting services,” Daylen shot back. Irving frowned. “Let’s not get into that, though. It’s good to see you, Irving.”

“And you as well,” Irving replied. “I am proud to see how far you have come.”

“I hear they call me the Red Warden, these days,” Daylen commented.

Irving smiled faintly. “The new uniform helps. Your legend continues to grow, you know. They say thunder can be heard when you walk, and that you have killed dragons with a single spell.”

“I did _finish_ a dragon with a spell, but I've never killed a dragon with just one,” Daylen mused. “Well, now I have a goal.”

“No comment on the thunder?”

“Oh, that's absolutely true,” Daylen said. “When we were defending Amaranthine, I called down a storm to take out the attacking darkspawn army.”

Irving paled. “You...what?”

Daylen gave him a pained smile. “To be fair, there was already a storm brewing, and I needed to save mana. So I drew the lightning down, rather than cast it myself.”

Irving stared at him a moment longer, before shaking his head. “You continue to surprise me. Many First Enchanters cannot do that.”

Daylen shrugged. “It was easy, once you realized that the power was already _there_ , just needed to be called upon.”

“Warden,” Ariane murmured.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Daylen said. “Please, excuse me, Irving. We came to avail ourselves of the library. We’re searching for some elven texts.”

“You know the way,” Irving replied.

“Look at all these books,” Ariane marveled as they cut between the bookshelves. “I’ve never seen so many!”

“I spent most of my childhood reading them,” Daylen said. “It’s easy to forget that most people didn’t have access to a library this size.”

“You hear what’s going on in Kirkwall?” An apprentice was saying to another. His friend gave him a blank look. “Up in the Free Marches. Half of Ferelden fled there in the Blight. They say there’s a refugee camp twice as big as the city. Whole place is run by Templars, though, so no one is getting in. They heard what happened here – made ‘em kind of jumpy.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” the other apprentice muttered.

They checked the index, before pushing deeper into the Circle’s library, Ariane nudging Cupcake. “You think you could sneak up on that mage over there?” The hound barked softly. “How high do you think he’d throw those things if he turned around and saw you looming over him?” The dog gave a disapproving whine. “Oh, lighten up. This place is like a tomb. A few surprises would be good for them.” Cupcake barked unhappily, and Ariane frowned. “Warden, your dog is lecturing me again.”

“If he didn’t, I would,” Daylen replied, scanning the bookshelf. “The Circle has been through enough.”

Ariane groaned. “Fine.”

Daylen’s eyes widened as he spotted the book they wanted. “Here we go.” He cracked the heavy tome open for Ariane to read, a ball of magelight flaring over her shoulder to provide some extra light.

The elf hummed as she turned one of the yellowing pages. “No, no, not helpful…wait! I recognize the character on this page!” She tapped the character triumphantly. “I think it makes up part of the word ‘Eluvian!’”

Daylen turned the book around, skimming it. “You know, I can only speak a little Elvish, and reading it was tough on a good day. From the looks of it, this was written a few hundred years before the Elvish I know was commonly used. Come on, there’s a linguistics section a few shelves over.”

Locating an Elvish-Fereldan dictionary was tricky, but once it was in hand the two commandeered a table and Daylen began cross-referencing the information. “See anything?”

“Whoever wrote this had truly awful handwriting,” Daylen remarked, rubbing his eyes.

“Whoa! Who let a dog in here?” A mage squawked, shoving past Daylen. “And what are you doing? Be careful!” Cupcake growled, and the mage took a step back.

“Leave my dog alone,” Daylen said without looking up. “And stay out of my light.”

“Wait, I know you.” Finn's eyes widened. “I remember you! You were the teacher's pet who was always wrecking the grade curves!”

Daylen threw up his hands. “ _Why does everyone give me shit about that_?”

“You’re the Grey Warden mage! The hero!” The mage’s face darkened. “This is even _worse_. Didn’t they teach you proper care of antique volumes in the first year?” Ariane and Daylen shared a look, and Cupcake tilted his head, watching the mage rave. “Maker! Some people save the country and suddenly think they can abuse priceless books all willy-nilly!”

“I stopped giving a toss what authority figures cared about roughly three days into my first year,” Daylen said, recognizing the mage. “You’re Finn, right?” He nodded. “Right. Well, I’m in the middle of something important here, so unless you’re familiar with this book…”

“I’ve used it, but I don’t know it by heart,” Finn replied, looking over Daylen’s shoulder. “Browsing the chapter on Eluvians? No one’s actually found one, you know.”

“I read this book, but it was years ago,” Daylen said. “I know that Eluvians were special enchanted mirrors. What else do you know about them?”

“When the Imperium sacked Arlathan, they took these mirrors and tried to unlock their power. Supposedly, the ancient elves could use them to travel over great distances. But all the Tevinters could use them for was communication, over long distances.”

“Now why would Morrigan be interested in _that_?” Daylen wondered aloud.

Finn waggled his eyebrows. “You have a friend with a special interest? Maybe she needs someone to talk to?” He giggled, but stopped and cleared his throat when he saw the stony looks on Ariane, Daylen, and Cupcake’s face.

“My people crossed paths with another Dalish clan not too long ago,” Ariane remarked. “Two of their young hunters encountered a strange mirror in some ruins. One disappeared and was never found, the other became deathly ill and died. They left Ferelden, and traveled north to forget their sorrows.”

“Well, that’s unusual,” Daylen said.

“I’ve never read anything about the Eluvians making people ill,” Finn agreed. “What became of it?”

“Shattered,” Ariane said. “Destroyed.”

Finn gasped. “ _Why_?”

Ariane rolled her eyes. “It was…corrupted by the darkspawn, beyond hope of recovery. They did it to protect others.”

Daylen grimaced. “It would have carried the Taint. Their missing hunter either became a darkspawn ghoul or died.”

“Even broken, it could be used to find the others,” Finn said, thinking out loud. “No, don’t get ahead of yourself Finn, you have to be sure.” His eyes widened. “We have to get to the repository! This is so exciting – Hadley has the key!”

They found Hadley standing outside the stairs to the repository, the Knight-Captain giving a long-suffering sigh as he spotted Finn approaching. “Hadley!” The mage said happily. “Just the man I was looking for.”

“Not looking very hard, were you?” Hadley asked dryly. “I’m always here.”

Finn chuckled nervously. “Good one. So I…eh…need to go into the repository.”

“No.”

Finn blinked in surprise. “No? Why not? I’m not some drooling apprentice.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Ariane asked.

“No,” Hadley groaned. “The sentinels have been behaving erratically, so the repository is locked for everyone’s safety.”

“Oh. Well then…er…sorry for bothering you.”

“What could happen that would affect the sentinels?” Daylen asked.

“Unfortunately, we are still not sure yet,” Hadley admitted. “The repository isn’t crucial to the daily functioning of the Circle, so we’ve left it until we can spare more men.”

Daylen rolled his eyes. “Always something to be killed, and I’m the one to do it. Give me the key, we’ll take care of it.”

Hadley shrugged. “Very well, it’s your necks. But before you go, what’s so important down there?”

“The statue,” Finn replied. “It knows things about Tevinter, and I need to speak to it.”

“Wait, the statue?” Daylen asked. “Zinovia?” Finn nodded. “I’m familiar with it. Let’s go.”

“Be careful, and keep the mess to a minimum,” Hadley warned.

The group descended the stairs, and Daylen saw Finn taking a tighter grip on his staff, the mage swallowing nervously. “You scared?” Daylen asked him.

Finn shook his head. “No, of course not.”

Daylen didn’t blink. “If you had any brains, you’d be scared.”

“All right, I’m bleeding terrified, then,” Finn said.

“Admitting it doesn’t mean you have to let it control you,” Daylen said softly as they moved down the dimly-lit hall towards the repository. “I’ve fought darkspawn, demons, and dragons, and I can tell you from personal experience that you never stop being scared. You just get better at dealing with it.”

Ariane had drawn her swords, and Cupcake was waiting with her at the door. “You ready?”

Daylen nodded. “Finn, keep back a touch, let us handle the close-in work,” he ordered.

“Don’t worry, I will,” Finn said fervently.

“Shouldn’t you do the same?” Ariane asked. “Not to cast aspersions on the Grey Wardens, but mages aren’t known for living long in close combat.”

Daylen scoffed. “I’m not most mages.” He rapped on his chest, a dull clank sounding through the fabric and leather of his clothing. “I resurrected an ancient Dalish branch of magic that allows mages to wear armor. Obviously, I’ve passed it on to the Dalish,” he said at Ariane’s surprised expression, “but it’s saved my life many times. I’ve got dragonskin mail on under my robes, helps keep all my fleshy bits in one place and piece.”

“Fascinating,” Ariane said as Daylen opened the door. “But a staff isn’t much use against swords.”

Daylen gave her a sharklike grin. “Who said anything about a staff?”

A sentinel charged them, and Ariane parried the sentinel’s first two strikes before the animated armor simply collapsed, a deep cut through the sentinel’s breastplate. Daylen turned what appeared to be a broken hilt over as he spun on his heel, sending a spray of arcane energy bolts down the hall with his other hand and knocking another sentinel flat on its back. “Daylen, behind you!” Ariane warned, and the Warden ducked, sweeping the broken hilt around. A wide blade of shimmering, red energy sprang from the hilt and cleaved through the armored shell. The sentinel staggered and stopped moving, before falling limply to the floor.

“Over there!” Finn shouted, pointing at a cloud of reddish mist. “That’s a tear in the Veil! Something from the Fade is influencing the sentinels. We have to deal with this!”

Another sentinel swung at Daylen, and the mage flared one of his defensive spells, stepping partway into the Fade and letting the attack sweep through him. It hurt, but when Daylen released the spell, he had a hand out and released a pulse of force magic that sent the sentinel flying across the room.

Dredging up a spell Avernus had taught him months back, Daylen wove magic, Cupcake charging past and tackling a sentinel that was about to blindside Ariane. The elf speared the sentinel with both of her blades, cheering “Good boy!”

Sealing the tear in the Veil took a few minutes, but when it was finished, all of the sentinels immediately fell limp. “We did it!” Finn said, rather unnecessarily. “And these sentinels are going back to normal. We need to deal with the rest of the rips in the Veil if we can.”

“We’ll take care of them all,” Daylen declared.

“Right. Now, what _is_ that?” Finn asked, pointing at the hilt in Daylen’s hand.

“Spirit blade,” Daylen replied, holding it out. “Channel some magic into it.” Finn focused, a blade briefly springing into being from the hilt. The mage nearly dropped it in surprise. “It’s an Orlesian weapon. Picked up the knowledge of it a few months back. I constructed the hilt myself, but I modified it with some help from a dwarf I know, she’s a genius at this sort of thing. You can insert different essences into a slot on the hilt to change the nature of the blade. I was working with lightning magic for a while, but I changed to fire last week, that’s why it’s red. I had a feeling I might need it.”

They found several more rifts around the tower’s basement, the last one in the middle of the room Daylen, Jowan, and Lily had broken into years before. “This used to be where the phylacteries of the apprentices were stored,” Finn remarked. “They’ve been moved to a more secure location. We don’t even know where they are anymore.”

Daylen winced. “Sorry about that.”

Ariane looked over. “It was your fault?”

“The day after I passed my Harrowing, I helped Jowan – my friend who’s now a Warden that I mentioned – destroy his phylactery and escape the Circle. We broke in through that wall,” He said, pointing at the doorway they had entered through, “and Jowan smashed the thing right in front of me. We got caught on the way out, although I doubt Jowan ever could have escaped quietly, even with my help. Just too many guards.”

“Let’s talk to the statue,” Finn urged. “We’re wasting time!”

The statue was right where Daylen had last seen it, and addressed them as they approached in the same mystical tone Daylen remembered. “I am the spirit of Eleni Zinovia, once consort and–”

“Advisor to Archon Valerius, blah, blah, fall of the house,” Finn interrupted. “Yes, we’ve been through that.”

“Finn,” the statue said, sounding bored. “Greetings.”

“I remember this statue,” Daylen commented.

“When you were here with Jowan?” Finn asked. Daylen nodded. “Some of the apprentices now use his name to describe dangerous schemes with little chance of success. Technically a misnomer, since he made it out of the tower alive…”

“Finn, the statue,” Daylen prodded. “Focus.”

“We know where a broken Eluvian lies,” Finn said. “Can it still be used to find the others?”

“Scry,” Eleni replied. “The broken glass, dagger-sharp, will be your key.”

“Find a fragment of the mirror and we can scry the location of the rest,” Daylen realized. “Scrying is a standard part of the Circle tuition.”

“I thought it pointless, myself,” Finn said.

“The Lights of Arlathan will illuminate the scryer’s path,” Eleni continued. “The archons possessed them, but they were misused, befouled, and lost, like so much the Imperium touched. Some were saved, carried by fugitives from the elven city. Their sorrow awoke the Stone, and her children sheltered them. They found sanctuary in the deep halls of Cad’halash, now known as Cadash. There the Lights of Arlathan lie, shielded from unworthy eyes.”

“Cadash thaig?” Daylen asked. “Impossible. It’s not that old. That the dwarves would shelter the elves despite their long alliance with the Tevinters…” he shook his head. “I’m getting off topic. I know where Cadash thaig is.”

“Well that’s convenient,” Finn muttered.

“Goodbye, Finn,” Eleni said. “We will not speak again.”

“What?” Finn asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” The statue remained silent, and Finn looked to Daylen, wide-eyed. “Why do you think it said we wouldn’t talk again? I…I’m not going to die, am I?”

“Sooner or later, I guarantee it,” Daylen said as they returned to the main floor.

“Not comforting,” Finn muttered. “Look, the Eluvians are linked. All of them. If you have one, you can find the others, if they still exist. But the one you know of is broken, and corrupted. So we need something else to…amplify the magic.”

“I have access to a great deal of lyrium, if need be,” Daylen offered.

Finn shook his head. “This is Dalish magic. Lyrium would work, but other Dalish magic would work best to amplify it.”

“The Lights of Arlathan,” Ariane realized. Finn nodded.

“And if Morrigan is interested in these Eluvians, then we stand a good chance of finding her if we find them,” Daylen surmised.

“That’s right,” Finn said. “Let me come with you, please. I can help. I thought all the mirrors were destroyed. I can’t pass up this chance at actually finding one.”

“Would Hadley let you leave?” Daylen asked.

“I had permission to leave the tower to continue my research some time ago,” Finn explained, “but I never had the opportunity until now. There was always something keeping me here. First it was difficulty getting funding, then the Blight, then the Templars didn’t want to let anyone out of the tower after the Uldred mess…I guess there’s always a first time, huh?”

Daylen shrugged. “Go get your gear. Ariane, we’ll need to take a look at some maps so you can mark off where the other Dalish clan found that Eluvian.” Ariane nodded, and Finn hurried towards the library and the stairs.

By the time Finn returned, Daylen and Ariane had plotted their route, resupplied, and cleared Finn’s departure with Hadley. The two stared at the ghastly hat he was wearing. “My mother knitted it for me,” he said defensively. “I hate wearing it, but she’d want me to…” He trailed off. “How does it sit?”

“I think it’s the sweetest hat ever,” Ariane said with a straight face.

“Man walks down the street in that hat, people know he's not afraid of anything,” Daylen added.[1]

Finn whipped the hat off his head, stuffing it in his pack. “Whatever. All I really need is Vera.”

Ariane raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Vera?”

Finn patted his staff. “I’ve had her since after my Harrowing. Been upgrading her ever since.”

Daylen nodded. “The rest of your equipment going to hold up?”

“My gloves and boots are lined in fox fur,” Finn explained. “They’ll hold up.”

“And the robe?” Daylen asked. “It looks like it was just ironed.”

Finn looked proud. “I enchanted it to always remain wrinkle-free. Come on, we’re wasting time!”

—AOTG—

That evening, Daylen was tending to the small cookfire, some carrots and potatoes stewing with bits of rabbit that Ariane had caught for them. The warrior was tending to her armor, carefully oiling the mail and ensuring it was undamaged.

Finn was watching their surroundings nervously. “You’re sure we’re safe here?” he asked again.

“Nothing’s getting near this camp without my knowing,” Daylen replied. “There are wards around the camp. Anything larger than a hare crosses them, I’ll know. And besides,” he scratched Cupcake behind the ear, “nothing escapes these ears.”

“ _Whuff_!”

Finn shrugged. “Fair enough. Dog, what do you call that which covers a tree?” Cupcake barked, and Ariane groaned. Finn snickered, before looking to their elven companion. “Ariane…does your name mean anything in elven?”

She rolled her eyes. “Blessed Creators! Why does everyone ask that of people from other cultures?”

“Er, I didn’t mean…”

“What about you?” She asked. “Are you named after an honorable fish’s appendage?”

“Well, um…” Finn paused. “The truth is, ‘Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire’ was a bit of a mouthful. And I was tired of the other apprentices calling me Flora.”

“So _that’s_ who they were talking about,” Daylen realized. “I always thought ‘Flora’ was some spirit that hung around the tower.”

Ariane was staring at him. “Let me just get that again. Your name is Florian…Phineas…”

“Horatio Aldebrant,” Finn finished. “Esquire. Can’t forget the ‘Esquire.’ Father insisted.”

“Did your parents hate you?” Ariane asked.

“No. They adore me. Still do, in fact. I’m sure my name is a result of overwhelming love replacing good sense.”

Ariane grunted. “So, Warden…er…Daylen?”

“Daylen’s fine.”

“What’s our route from here?”

“We’re going to head south along Lake Calenhad, take the old Imperial Highway to the east, and work our way through the Brecelian Forest. Not much point in going to Cadash Thaig and finding those ‘Lights of Arlathan’ if we don’t have a piece of the Eluvian.” Daylen scratched at his beard, adding some salt and garlic to the pot. “I’m still trying to hash out what Morrigan could want with the Eluvians. Is she trying to unlock their ancient power? She knows she’s brilliant, but she wouldn’t try to do what the Tevinters couldn’t on her own.”

“Who is this Morrigan, anyway?”

“It’s a long story,” Daylen replied. “Suffice to say she’s a Witch of the Wilds. A very powerful mage. Very cunning, very secretive, and an old friend of mine. She and I…” Daylen cleared his throat. “She’s a friend.”

Finn’s cheeks pinked slightly. “Oh. Well then. Why are you chasing her?”

“The less you know about my reasons, the better, but she stole a book from Ariane’s clan.”

“Long way to go for a book,” Finn commented.

“It was a tome from the time of Arlathan,” Ariane replied primly.

Finn’s eyes bugged out. “A surviving tome? Why did they only send you?”

“I was my clan’s best hunter, but I move faster on my own,” Ariane said. “The Warden and his hound can keep up. I’m hoping you won’t slow us down.”

“I won’t,” Finn promised.

Cupcake padded up to Ariane, depositing something in her lap. “Look, Finn!” Ariane said. “He fetched me a flower.” Cupcake barked excitedly. “Oh, how thoughtful. It’s very pretty.” She shook some drool off of it. “Slobbery, but pretty.”

“You should just tell him to fetch a Morrigan,” Finn suggested. “It would save us a lot of trouble.”

“I tried,” Daylen said. “He just looked at me like I was an idiot.” Finn snorted out a laugh, and Ariane smiled broadly. “So, Ariane, have any of the clans began heading south?”

“A few,” Ariane replied cagily. “Most are…hesitant to believe that your king’s gratitude will last.”

“Oh, that’s right, they were given enough land for a home,” Finn commented.

Daylen shrugged. “Sure, they were given a marshy, unproductive stretch of land in the south that’s cold and wet for half the year, and chilly and wet for the other half. Nobody else wanted it, and with the way things have gone in the past for the elves, they’ll find something valuable there.”

“And that would…be bad?” Finn asked.

Ariane snorted disdainfully. “And then the humans will move in and say that Dalish were never given it at all.”

“Pretty much,” Daylen agreed, spooning some of the stew into bowls. “I wish I could say you were wrong, Ariane, but we both know better.” He dragged a spoon through the stew. “The elves deserve better.”

—AOTG—

It took a full week for them to find the ruins in the Brecelian Forest. A few roving packs of darkspawn that had been stranded aboveground after the Blight had been drawn to Daylen, but with two mages, a skilled Dalish hunter, and a mabari hound, they had made it through unscathed.

“Stay close,” Daylen warned. “I’m still sensing Tainted creatures around.”

“More darkspawn?” Finn asked nervously.

Daylen shook his head. “No. Something else. Come on.” They crept into the ruins, and Cupcake took the point, sniffing cautiously at the ground. Daylen and Ariane followed, and Daylen found himself subconsciously toying with the ring on his hand.

He almost jumped when Ariane spoke. “That ring, you play with it often.”

“Morrigan gave it to me, a long time ago,” Daylen explained, forcing himself to stop messing with it.

“A ring is a significant gift,” the elf noted. “In human cultures, does that not mean…”

Daylen shook his head. “We’re not married, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yet you put yourself in such danger, just to find her,” Ariane pointed out.

“We're not married,” Daylen replied gruffly.

“Sure you're not,” Finn teased.

“No ceremony, no vows, no _honeymoon_ ,” Daylen pointed out.

“You love each other?” Ariane asked.

“Of course,” Daylen said.

“Are you committed to each other?”

“We are. Were. I don’t know. I haven’t felt the slightest attraction to anyone else since.”

“You stand together against problems that come at you?”

“Every time.”

“You're married,” Ariane declared. “No matter what some ceremony or vows might say. If two people love each other, are committed to each other, and work together no matter what they have to face, then they're married.” Daylen grunted noncommittally. “What will you do when you reach her?”

“Blabber like an idiot, most likely,” Daylen replied bluntly. “I just want to see her again, to see my child.”

“We’ll find her,” Ariane promised. “You have my word.”

“Mine too,” Finn said softly.

Ariane nodded. “The ancient Eluvian will be our key.” They kept moving into the ruins, and Ariane glanced at Finn. “You don’t seem that pleased to be out of the tower. I thought most mages wanted to be free.”

“Why? Just to be outside?” Finn pointed to his robes. “Do you see this splotch here, on my robe? That’s _mud_. There’s no mud in the tower.” Ariane glanced down at her mud-stained boots, and Finn sighed. “I miss being cozy and dry.”

Daylen held up a hand, and Ariane and Finn halted. “There’s something else here,” he hissed. “Tainted creatures.”

“Where?” Ariane asked, drawing her blades as quietly as she could.

“Just ahead,” Daylen murmured. “Stay here.” He shifted into his mouse form, scurrying forward. He returned a few moments later, a dark look on his face. “Elves. Tainted elves.”

“Can anything be done?” Ariane asked.

Daylen shook his head. “They’re ghouls now, there’s no saving them. At that point, death is a mercy.” Ariane grimaced. “Get your bow ready, they’re waiting for us. They can probably sense me.”

“How do you want to do this?” Ariane asked, stringing her bow and nocking an arrow.

“I’ll provide cover,” Daylen said. Finn and Ariane fell in behind him as he brought up his full battery of defensive spells, and Daylen marched forward, flinging a fireball down one end of the corridor as arrows ricocheted off his shields. A trio of elven ghouls dying under the blast of the fireball as Ariane and Finn dropped another trio of elves in the opposite direction, and Cupcake growled, sniffing along the corridor and pawing at the ground.

“These people were very sick,” Ariane murmured. “Ir abelas, lethallin…”

“Don’t touch the bodies,” Daylen warned.

“You don’t think it’s contagious, do you?” Finn asked.

“It’s deadly,” Daylen said. “Keep away from them.”

More tainted elves were ahead, along with several shrieks. After the second pair of shrieks went down to the group’s weapons, they found a heavy key on one of the ghouls, unlocking a thick wooden door.

“There it is,” Ariane said softly.

“If it’s corrupted, _don’t touch the shards_ ,” Daylen warned, crouching with a ball of magelight in his hand. He picked up a hunk of glass the size of his fist, feeling a tingle of residual magic resonating in it. “All right.”

“I can’t believe this is one of the Eluvians,” Finn said softly. “It’s magnificent. And broken. Mostly broken.”

“Well, we have the shard of the Eluvian,” Ariane said as Daylen carefully wrapped the shard in a cloth. “We still need the Lights of Arlathan.”

“We should head to Cadash Thaig,” Finn declared.

They backtracked out of the ruin, carefully skirting the bodies. “So you’ve never…been outdoors?” Ariane asked. “Till now?”

“I have been, I just don’t care much for it,” Finn replied. “We had to do stretching exercises. I got sweaty. There was…dirt. During my apprenticeship, they thought getting fresh air and exercise at least once a week would do us good.”

“Fresh air and exercise _are_ good for you.”

“You know what fills fresh air in the summer?” Finn asked as they emerged into the Brecelian Forest, light from the setting sun filtering through the trees. “Mosquitoes. Hungry for sweet, untested mage flesh.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Luckily it didn’t last long,” Finn mused. “One day, an apprentice made a break for it. Jumped off the dock and started swimming for the shore. The Templars couldn’t jump in after him, not with the armor on. Although two sank trying. They finally found him a week later. We stopped having to go out after that.” Finn snorted. “That mage, Anders, never stopped trying to escape. Haven’t heard from him since his last attempt.”

“I fought with him after the Blight,” Daylen chimed in. “Good man. He joined the Wardens, but he left a while back. Not sure where he is these days, he did another runner. I didn’t expect him to stay forever, but I had hoped he might find a place among the Grey Wardens.”

“So how do we get to Cadash thaig?” Finn asked eagerly that evening as they tore into a roasted deer Ariane had bagged.

“Northwest of here, there’s a Deep Roads entrance,” Daylen explained. “There are a few Wardens manning a checkpoint there, keeping watch until we can find a more permanent way to seal it off. It’s near the thaig, so we won’t have to go through too much of the Deep Roads.”

“Do you think that Morrigan will be there?” Ariane asked.

Daylen rubbed his face tiredly. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I even _want_ her to be there – she abandoned me once. I’ve got…sort of a history with that. I just…I…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Sod it. I’m going to bed.”

—AOTG—

Traveling overland took a week, and the group reached Vigil’s Keep and stopped just long enough to resupply and pick up a batch of reports. “Looks like the dragonbone mining has been halted,” Daylen mused as they rested that evening. “Some dragonlings showed up and scattered the workers. No casualties, that’s good news at least, but they’ll need to gather up a proper strike force to clean them out.”

“You _mine_ dragonbone?” Ariane asked.

Daylen looked up. “It turned out that the name ‘Dragonbone Wastes’ wasn’t just poetic license. Ancient dragons would apparently go there to die, and a great deal of usable dragonbone was either just laying around or buried close enough to the surface that we could recover it. We’re making frankly unfair amounts of money selling dragonbone and dragonbone equipment all over Thedas. We’ve shipped off boatloads of it to places as far away as Rivain and Nevarra. We even tried trading with the Dalish for ironwood equipment, but they’ve been hesitant to let it get away.”

The Deep Roads entrance was easy to locate, and Daylen’s credentials got them past the handful of Warden ensigns that had drawn the guard duty. The Warden-Commander paused long enough to offer some encouragement to his troops before they entered the Deep Roads.

With the updated maps the dwarves and Wardens had been making, locating Cadash thaig was trivially easy. Venturing through the Deep Roads and darkspawn-dug tunnels was time-consuming, and none of them enjoyed the trip. Finn and Ariane seemed to share Daylen’s dislike of enclosed underground spaces, and Cupcake picked up on the tension among the others as they picked their way through the tunnels. They found themselves at the edge of Cadash thaig within a matter of days, and as they emerged from the tunnels near the golem memorial they had come to find years before, Daylen nodded. “We’re here. Unfortunately, so are the darkspawn.”

“You’re sure?” Finn asked.

Daylen glanced at him. “Yes, I’m sure. I can sense darkspawn, and I’ve been here before.”

Finn blushed. “Sorry, it’s just hard to breathe with all this stone around me. I…I hope this is all in my head.”

“It is, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with,” Daylen said reassuringly. “I’ve had a little more time to get used to it. Try focusing on something else. You’re our scholar on this trip. What can you tell me about these Lights?”

Finn closed his eyes, thinking. “Right.” He opened his eyes, rooting around in his pack. “So I’ve been going through my old notes every night, and I came across this footnote. Apparently, the elves would magically conceal relics of great significance, thus shielding them from unworthy eyes.”

“Which would explain why I didn’t see any when I was here before,” Daylen mused. “And given what the Tevinters did…”

“I’d say they count as unworthy,” Finn finished.

“You don’t say,” Ariane interjected dryly.

“So you think the Lights of Arlathan are under this enchantment?” Daylen asked.

“That’s my hypothesis, but they might just be buried in the ground, too.” He looked around the cavern. “Actually, that’s very likely. It looks like Cadash thaig was built on the ruins of Cad’halash. The Lights of Arlathan could be _miles_ below us.”

“I like the other theory more,” Ariane said.

“So do I,” Daylen replied. “This enchantment – do you have any ideas on how to break it or get around it?”

“I do, but…you might not like them,” Finn said slowly. “See, if the elves concealed the relics with magic, only the blood of their kin will reveal them. So Ariane…we need your blood.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Ariane asked as Daylen stepped between them.

“Hold up,” Daylen said.

“Just a few drops, that’s it!” Finn protested.

“Why her?” Daylen asked.

“She shares the same blood as the Arlathan elves, so she’s the only one this enchantment might recognize,” Finn explained. “You and I would never be able to fool the enchantment.”

Daylen stared him down, his eyes searching Finn’s. Finally, he nodded. “All right. It’s up to you, Ariane. I won’t force you to help, but we can’t do this without you.”

“Fine,” Ariane grumbled. “Just because hearing that gets me all tingly. A few drops.”

Daylen passed Finn the small dagger he kept on his person for emergencies, and the mage approached Ariane. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised.

Ariane yelped as he opened a vein on her wrist. “You call that gentle?”

Finn winced. “I’m sorry.” He held a vial to the cut, collecting a trickle of blood and healing the injury with a flare of healing magic. “My spell will reveal vortices of magic that _should_ allow us to see the energy being drawn to the relics.”

—AOTG—

_Morrigan  
“Witch of the Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?”_

_Of herself, Morrigan says little. She does not deny being a witch of the Wilds, but beyond that, everything about her is in question._

_Her mother claimed to be Flemeth. She was made to accompany the surviving Grey Wardens: the payment, Flemeth said, for saving their lives at the Tower of Ishal. She soon proved herself a powerful witch and a valuable addition to the group, balanced by her icy disposition and sharp tongue._

_Morrigan and the Warden began a physical relationship shortly after his sojourn into the Fade at Redcliffe. Whether out of affection, friendship, or simple pragmatism, the Warden killed Flemeth at Morrigan's request to prevent Flemeth from stealing her body._

_On the eve of battle with the archdemon, she made an offer to the Warden: sire a child with her, and she could use it to capture the archdemon's soul at the moment of death, saving the Warden who struck the killing blow. The Warden accepted, and after the battle, Morrigan disappeared. The Warden-Commander spent the next two years attempting to track her movements, and when undeniable evidence emerged of her presence, the Warden-Commander ventured to the hut in the Korcari Wilds where they had first become companions…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1Firefly. [ return to text ]


	17. Witch Hunt Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden-Commander finally finds Morrigan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The Proving  
Valos atredum. In the 23rd year of the reign of King Ragnan Aeducan, an old man of the Servant Caste was accused of stealing a sapphire ring from his employer, Lord Dace. The servant was stripped of his position, he and his family thrown to the streets, and soon after, the servant died._

_The son of the disgraced servant challenged Lord Dace to a Proving, declaring that his father had been the victim of a cruel injustice and the ancestors would bear him witness. Lord Dace had no choice but to accept._

_On the sacred stone of the Proving Ground, the nobleman faced the servant boy. Lord Dace carried a sword crafted for his own hand and was clad in his great-grandfather's armor. The servant boy had neither armor nor weapon. When the battle began, the boy fought like a whole pack of angry deepstalkers, flinging himself upon the startled lord, wrenching the sword from his hand, and prying at his armor with bare fingers. The boy knocked Lord Dace to the ground and beat him until the lord begged for mercy._

_The boy and his family were reinstated to their place in the Dace household, and the virtue of the boy's father was not questioned again. The ancestors had spoken, and no one would question their word._

_—As told by Shaper Vortag_

—AOTG—

Across the bridge from the golem monument, they found the first vortex, and Daylen glanced at Finn, who nodded reassuringly. The Warden-Commander thrust his hand into the vortex, feeling the flows of magic through the thaig. They picked their way forward, the sensation of nearby darkspawn scraping at Daylen’s nerves as they crossed another bridge.

“I always thought dwarves must be dull, without magic, but this place is amazing,” Finn said softly. “I should study dwarven history when I get back to the Circle.” He pulled up short as Daylen held up a fist, signaling them to halt.

“Wait here,” the Warden ordered. “Cupcake, keep an eye on them.” He strode forward, drawing his staff. “I’ll be right back.”

“He’s going alone?” Finn asked Ariane.

Cupcake snuffled, and Ariane nodded in agreement. “He knows what he’s doing.” Both of them jumped as pained darkspawn screeches echoed through the thaig, accompanied by thunderclaps and cracks of magic. Ariane drew her blades and made to follow Daylen, but Cupcake turned, pawing the ground and snuffling.

A blizzard exploded into view over a deeper section of the thaig, and a chain of teeth-jarring blasts went off as bursts of flame rose between the ruined dwarven buildings. A moment later, the blizzard exploded into a massive storm, doubling in size and intensity. Dust and smoke rose in a haze over the thaig, whipped upwards towards the cavern’s ceiling by the ongoing storm, and lightning could be seen arcing through the clouds as the battle continued.

It seemed to last for hours, but eventually the storm expended itself and the thaig fell silent again. A piercing whistle echoed through the cavern, and Cupcake barked happily, bounding forward with Ariane and Finn close behind.

They found Daylen sitting on a low wall, dozens of darkspawn scattered about what had once been a market square in various states of dismemberment. A pack of shrieks had been frozen solid and lay shattered in a broad circle around a large scorch mark, and several other darkspawn were impaled several feet off the ground through massive spikes of ice, additional spikes branching off the main stalagmite and erupting through their Tainted flesh like the branches of a tree. The Warden-Commander looked up at their approach, nodding in greeting. “I don’t sense any more darkspawn around,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather. “We should be able to work unmolested for a while.” Finn looked slightly green as he took in the carnage. “It’s awful, I know,” Daylen continued. “But believe me, it’s nothing compared to what they would do to you given the chance.”

“You’re sure that’s all of them?” Ariane asked, keeping her blades drawn.

“For now, at least,” Daylen replied. “The noise and lights drew most of them to me. No sign of any Lights of Arlathan despite the magical vortex leading me this way, but,” he held up a tattered journal, “I found this poking around after the fight. Someone collected some exchanges between the Shaperate and a few expeditions.”

“Anything relevant to our search?” Ariane asked.

Daylen’s face darkened. “A bit.” He flipped to an older entry. “Commander Regnar of House Cadash, you were wise to send the relic you uncovered. The Shaperate has compared the carvings on it to various records, and believe them to be of elven origin, possibly thousands of years old. I would advise that you cease repair work on the warrior training grounds immediately and continue investigation. A team will be dispatched from Kal-Sharok as soon as possible.” He paged through to another entry. “The excavations are going well. I think Shaper Warrek secretly hopes that the artifacts will lead him to the lost city of Arlathan, despite Tevinter records that insist on its complete obliteration. Even if he found the site of the city, there would be little remaining of any worth. As for the artifacts, they must have come to this area by trade. Cadash Thaig is old, built upon an ancient settlement called Cad'halash. Lots of junk can accumulate over that much time, even elven junk.”

“So we’re definitely in the right place,” Finn said.

“There’s more,” Daylen replied. “It goes on to say, ‘got the carvings. These two depict elves forming an alliance with the Cad'halash dwarves, after the destruction of Arlathan. Scholars say it's proof that they took refuge here to escape the Imperium. Should get a great price for this from collectors and historians.”

“Elves _were_ here…” Ariane said. “Strange to think of the dwarves giving shelter in this darkness to the elves who fled Arlathan.”

Daylen scowled. “That’s what I thought, especially considering the historical alliance between the dwarves and Tevinter. ‘We thought the Imperium found the elves hidden in Cad'halash, and destroyed them, but it doesn't add up. The thaig was destroyed with conventional dwarven weaponry, not magical forces. No supernatural means melted the stone and no immense forces pulverized the pillars. We uncovered shields bearing the heraldry of old Kal Sharok houses. We destroyed Cad'halash--our own people. The only remaining conclusion is that Kal Sharok learned that they were sheltering elves and, knowing it would jeopardize their alliance with the Tevinter Imperium, took steps to cover it up. Thus far, there has been no evidence to contradict this theory, but it has split the Shaperate. Some wish to enter it into the Memories, while others demand that it lies forgotten in the dark halls of the Roads.’ The Kal Sharok dwarves turned on their own.”

“They destroyed the ancient settlement because they feared the Tevinter Imperium,” Ariane growled. “Despicable.”

“And logical,” Finn said softly. Ariane glared at him, and the mage raised his hands defensively. “The dwarves couldn’t hope to stand against the Tevinter Imperium at the height of its power. They did what they thought they had to do. It doesn’t make it less horrible, but it makes sense.” He frowned. “The Cadash dwarves didn’t even know they once had elves living here. Wouldn’t this be remarkable enough to record in the Memories?”

“That’s assuming it would be convenient for them to do so,” Daylen replied. “The Shaperate has this habit of simply ignoring anything that doesn’t portray them in a good light.” He stood, crossing the wrecked market square. “I stirred up the ambient magic but good during the fight so I couldn’t pinpoint the location, but I think the Lights are here, or at least _something_ is. Finn, can you take it from here? I’m low on mana.”

“Got it,” Finn replied, weaving mana. There was a flash of light, and an archaic lantern appeared in a nearby alcove, smoke wafting around it. “There it is!” Finn reached out to grab the lantern, but Daylen held out an arm.

“Wait.” The smoke was gathering into a single cloud, forming into a humanoid shape. “Shit.” The cloud resolved into an elf wearing ancient armor, twin blades in the specter’s hands and a look of fury in its eyes.

“Oh, _guardians_!” Finn exclaimed as Daylen fell back under the spectral elf’s attack. “That’s what that word on the scroll meant!”

“Dandy,” Daylen replied, frantically parrying with pulses of force magic. “Can you kill it?” One of the guardian’s blades etched a deep furrow across his gauntlet, and Daylen backpedaled, yanking the guardian’s feet out from under it and crushing it with a downward hammer blow of force. The smoke dissipated, and Daylen exhaled. “Finn?”

“I got it,” the mage said, cradling the lantern. “The Lights of Arlathan are old lanterns! I didn’t realize the statue was capable of being literal.”

They picked their way through the thaig, a pack of dead deepstalkers lying amidst the carnage Daylen had wreaked. The Warden-Commander found another magical vortex as Finn marveled at the dwarven-made torches that were still burning on the walls. “I would love to know how they do that. Magic? Special fuel? Perhaps the design of the sconces? I always thought dwarves must be dull without magic, but this place is amazing.”

“Thataway,” Daylen pronounced, pointing down the lane. “Magic’s flowing that way.”

Another lantern was hiding on a corner on a side street, and Finn disrupted the magic hiding it, grabbing it quickly as another elven guardian arose from the smoke. “In hindsight, we should have expected resistance like this,” Finn remarked as Daylen drew his spirit blade.

Daylen scoffed as he hacked the spectral guardian apart. “Once you know they’re coming, they-” He grunted as an arrow ricocheted off his helmet, the projectile carrying enough force to knock him to the ground. Ariane turned, ducking another high-powered arrow from an elven guardian that had appeared at the other end of the street. She readied her own bow, side-stepping the guardian’s next shot as she nocked and drew. Cupcake and Finn dragged Daylen’s limp body out of the line of fire as Ariane took aim.

“ _Ir abelas_ ,” Ariane whispered, planting the arrow between the guardian’s eyes. The specter dissipated, and the elf sighed, turning to the others. “I wish we could question these ancients instead of killing them.” Cupcake was whining nervously as Finn hauled Daylen into a sitting position, the unconscious mage’s head lolling to one side. “Is he alive?”

“He’s just knocked out,” Finn said. “I’m surprised that arrow hit him so hard.”

“The guardians clearly aren’t bound by the same limits you or I would face,” Ariane replied as Finn began healing the other mage’s head injury. “We’re lucky you weren’t hit. One of those arrows could have killed you.”

The Warden groaned, and Cupcake yipped, licking his face. Daylen looked up, wondering why the world was tilting. “It seems I managed to best them even while unconscious. I am that amazing.”

“An arrow ricocheted off your helmet and knocked you out,” Finn explained.

Daylen tugged his helmet off, running his thumb over the dent in the thick metal. “Well, that’s not good. You two hurt?” Ariane shook her head. “Good. Let’s keep going.”

They worked their way deeper into the thaig, more dead darkspawn marking the path of destruction Daylen had carved. “My people could not have been comfortable hiding under so much stone,” Ariane said softly.

“This thaig isn’t like any other I’ve ever seen,” Daylen replied. “I didn’t think anything of it until now, but…I suppose the life, the running water and live plants here, could be a result of Dalish magic.”

Two more of the Lights of Arlathan were guarded by more spectral elves, and when the last one fell, Finn nodded. “I think that’s the last of them. We have the shard of the Eluvian, and the Lights of Arlathan. Now all we have to do is scry for an unbroken mirror.” He scratched at his chin. “The ritual may attract unwanted attention.”

“We can protect you,” Daylen said. “I haven’t scryed since before my Harrowing, and I’m better in a fight than you anyway.”

Finn nodded. “You three can keep any shades that come looking off me, and I’ll do the rest.” It only took a few minutes to set up the ritual, the four lanterns they had collected spaced around Finn as he carefully unwrapped the fragment of the Eluvian they had collected. “Get ready, I’m starting,” he warned as Daylen began laying down glyphs around the area.

Almost immediately, shades appeared through the Veil, running directly into Daylen’s mage-killer spell. The clouds of smoke and dust dissipated, and Daylen twirled Spellfury, a wall of ice spikes erupting from the ground and impaling more shades that appeared.

Finn finished his ritual a minute later, and Cupcake whined as his latest chewtoy dissipated, the shade fleeing back to the Fade. “Phew!” The mage said, noticing a gash on his arm from a shade that had gotten past Ariane. “Am I bleeding? Oh look, a rip in my robe.” His eyes rolled up into his head, and Finn collapsed.

Daylen, Cupcake, and Ariane glanced at each other. “What happened to ‘Ariane, give us your blood, who cares if it hurts?’” Ariane teased.

“It’s _my_ blood,” Finn protested, healing the injury. “That’s different.”

“First time you get injured in combat is always a bit stressful,” Daylen said. “Did the ritual work?”

“I’ve pinpointed another Eluvian,” Finn replied proudly. “It’s in the Dragonbone Wastes.”

“I’ve been there,” Daylen said. “I didn’t see any mirror, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. The Tevinters probably moved it there to see if the ancient dragon bones could enhance the Eluvian’s power.”

“It might be hidden, or only appear to those who know its location,” Finn theorized. “I saw it. It was in a large cavern, it looked like it was underground.”

Daylen winced. “Underground? You’re sure?” Finn nodded. “I know the place. But if it’s there, it might be corrupted. There were darkspawn there.”

Finn shrugged. “It was at the other end of the cavern, over a narrow path. It looked like a rock wall had been there, but had fallen.”

Daylen stroked his beard. “That could have protected it. The wall was solid when I was there last.”

—AOTG—

Traveling underground took a few days, cutting north through the Deep Roads. Surprisingly enough, they found Kal’Hirol under attack. A clutch of Legion of the Dead were fighting a losing battle against four times their number in darkspawn, and Daylen growled as he saw the Legion being forced back towards the sealed gates.

The Warden-Commander began weaving magic. “Ariane, Finn, keep them off me please.” Cupcake fell into position next to Daylen as Ariane readied her bow.

A Legionnaire fell, the dwarf screaming in defiant rage as the hurlock’s crude axe came down. The axehead shattered against a glittering barrier that flared into existence as Daylen cast, and the mage stepped forward. Another barrier springing up between him and his companions, sealing him in with the darkspawn.

“He’s going to fight them _alone_?” Finn asked incredulously.

“Apparently,” Ariane replied, tapping the solid barrier with a nocked arrow.

Switching his staff for his spirit blade, Daylen raised the weapon, ignoting the blade and giving the charging darkspawn a feral grin. The lead hurlocks were almost upon him when Daylen lashed out with his other hand, blasting the crowd back with a pulse of Force Magic, before he brought his fist down, smashing the closest darkspawn into pulp against the stone floor. A hurlock alpha staggered forward and raised its greatsword, only for Daylen to sweep low and cut its legs out from under it. The mage followed through with a flare of frost magic that sent a ring of icy spikes erupting out of the ground around him, spearing several more darkspawn.

In three spells, Daylen had killed almost half the darkspawn, and he casually parried two strikes from a genlock’s axe as he mashed another against the ceiling with a gesture. He pulled another cluster of darkspawn into a tight grouping and paused to behead the genlock he had engaged before incinerating the group of darkspawn with a fireball. Another few hacks of his spirit blade had several smoldering pieces of darkspawn hit the ground, and Daylen charged up lightning before killing the rest with a chained bolt. One genlock staggered back to its feet, and Daylen beheaded it with a flourish before hanging his spirit blade off his belt and dropping the barriers.

Finn and Ariane were at his side in seconds, Cupcake pawing anxiously at his leg. “I know, I know,” Daylen sighed. “I didn’t want any of you getting hurt.” The dog gave an affronted bark. “It could happen,” Daylen insisted, looking over the Legionnaires and helping Finn heal the wounded. “Were these the only darkspawn attacking?”

“The only ones left, Warden,” the squad leader replied. “None made it into the fortress.”

“Good. We’re headed topside.”

The squad leader nodded. “Best of luck.” He rapped out a pattern on the door, and a few moments later the sounds of locks opening reached their ears. A handful of dwarven warriors accompanied by a pair of Warden recruits were on the other side, and Ariane frowned as they cut through the Thaig.

“They should have joined the fight. With all of those extra fighters, they could have taken on all those darkspawn.”

“I happen to agree, but the dwarves don’t listen to me,” Daylen replied. “Their procedure is to lock all the doors, let the Legion of the Dead handle it, and pretend that there isn’t a problem, and if there is a problem, it certainly isn’t _their_ problem.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ariane sputtered as they emerged into daylight.

“That’s what I said,” Daylen agreed. “I showed up in Orzammar bearing treaties that obligated the dwarves to aid the Wardens against the Blight, and was told that the Blight was a ‘surfacer problem,’ and that once they finished with their little succession crisis, they would deign to fulfill the promise they had made and upheld for centuries.”

“Bitter, are we?” Finn asked.

Daylen huffed. “Quite. I spent far too long solving everybody else’s problems during the Blight. I couldn’t even guess at how many people died because I was busy picking up everyone else’s laundry.”

—AOTG—

It took them another few days to reach the Dragonbone Wastes. Night had fallen by the time they crested the ridge that blocked their view of the ruined Tevinter fortress, and the group rallied up, Daylen squinting into the dark. “There’s… _something_ out there,” he said, pointing to torchlights bobbing among the skeletons. “It’s not darkspawn, but they’re not dragons.” Cupcake growled. “Really? Already?”

“Am I the only one who doesn’t understand the dog?” Finn asked.

“Dragon cultists,” Ariane translated.

“Surprising they showed up so soon,” Daylen remarked. “Word must have spread faster than I expected.”

“Why would anyone worship a dragon?” Ariane asked.

“Dragons are big, powerful, and they breathe fire,” Finn said. “Some people are easily impressed.”

Daylen snorted. “Come on. Keep your eyes open for dragons.”

“And mirrors,” Finn added.

“I’ve dealt with people like this before,” Daylen warned as they descended the ridge. “They’re not usually particularly organized or skilled, but they come in packs and don’t value their own lives at all. They’re also not big on talking. Finn, Cupcake, I want you to hang back. Ariane, come with me.” The two crept forward, and Daylen lowered his voice. “We’re going to pick off as many as we can without tipping the others off.” Ariane nodded, drawing one of her swords as Daylen loosened his dragonbone dagger in its sheath.

The two approached the nearest cluster of cultists, lurking in the shadows. “The Wardens will return soon,” one of them said. “We must be ready.”

“They will fall before our might,” another insisted, a third nodding in agreement. “The dragons fight with us.” All three cultists hit the dirt a moment later as Daylen’s sleep spell took effect. The two went to work swiftly, extinguishing their torches, dragging the unconscious cultists into the shadows, and cutting their throats. They repeated the procedure several more times, picking off groups of the cultists as they worked their way towards the tower.

Daylen looked over the last group that stood between them and the tower. This one was substantially larger than the others, and a large drake was dozing next to a pair of dragonlings by the fire. Daylen glanced over at Ariane, shaking his head and leading the way back to the others. “Too many?” Ariane asked as they rejoined them.

“With the dragons backing them up, yes,” Daylen replied, kneeling and sketching the layout in the dirt. “All right, there’s about a dozen left, along with a few dragons.” Finn paled. “Relax, they’re small. Ariane, you and I are going to press the attack. Come from this direction with Cupcake, I’ll come from the opposite side. Finn, I want you to stay at range on this ridge and keep the dragons petrified, frozen, whatever, just keep them off us. Cupcake, sow a little chaos. But nobody attack until I give the signal.”

“What’s the signal?” Finn asked as Daylen stood, dusting off his hands.

“When everything catches fire, probably,” Ariane muttered.

“In a manner of speaking,” Daylen said. “I’ll drop a spell or two on them, then douse the fire. They’ll be blind.” He switched his staff to his off hand and drew his spirit blade, crouching low. “Move out. I’ll wait until you’re all in position.” Ariane vanished into the darkness, and Daylen shook his head. “She is far too good at that. Finn, keep low, step lightly, and follow Cupcake to your position. He’ll take care of you.” The Warden-Commander vanished, and Finn felt the dog pawing at his leg. The mage crouched low and shuffled after the dog, trying not to make noise as the hound padded along casually. The hound lead him to the ridge he was supposed to be and took his sleeve in its mouth, tugging him to the ground and snuffling quietly before turning and bounding away into the night.

Finn lay there, waiting with his heart pounding in his ears for what felt like hours. He stared into the darkness around the camp, trying to spot any sign of the others moving. He thought he saw a glint in the moonlight that might have been one of Ariane’s blades, but no matter how hard he peered, he couldn’t be sure there was anyone there.

“Hey, where’s Tomas?” One of the cultists around the fire asked. “He should be back by now.”

“Knowing him, he fell into that ditch again,” another scoffed. A few of the others laughed. “Don’t worry about it. He’ll find his way back.”

A corpse landed in their midst, and the men fell back, shouting in surprise, moments before the body violently exploded, spraying shards of bone and tainted gore across the camp. A moment later, a massive fireball bloomed in their midst, and Finn grunted in pain as the fire blanked out his vision. He blinked frantically, noticing that the campfire had died in a burst of frost, and amidst the shouts of shock and pain he heard blades clashing and the Warden’s hound barking angrily. The Warden-Commander’s blade appeared in the night as it bisected a cultist, and Finn rose to his feet, casting paralysis and petrification spells at the dark shapes of the dragons.

The remaining cultists were dead in moments, and the group turned on the dragons, Ariane hacking at the drake’s exposed neck with both blades until it collapsed as Daylen and Cupcake battered one of the dragonlings. All four ganged up on the last dragonling, and when it was over, Daylen lit a ball of magelight in his hand, waving to Finn. “Well done! Come on, time’s wasting!” He glanced to Ariane. “Nicely done, taking that one down quietly. I didn’t expect him to show up like that.”

They regrouped, and Daylen passed Finn a lyrium potion as they made for the base of the tower. “Is that the last of them?” Finn asked.

“Last time I was here, the place was crawling with darkspawn,” Daylen said softly. “Cupcake? You smell anyone else around?” The hound sniffed the air, growling angrily. “What do you mean, you don’t know? How do you _not know_ what’s out there?” The dog yipped. “Oh.”

“Problems?” Finn asked.

“There’s something else out there,” Daylen explained. “Something big. Be on your guard. It’s no dragon, but I’m betting it’s not friendly.” He sighed. “There’s always one big bastard roaming around…”

“Does this sort of thing happen to you often?” Ariane asked as they moved cautiously towards the tower.

“Often enough that I’ve noticed a pattern,” Daylen admitted. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Up there!” Finn cried, pointing at the top of the tower. A massive dark shape was perched on top of the tower, and for a moment Daylen thought it was a giant spider before it moved and caught the moonlight. “What _is_ that?”

“A…a varterral,” Ariane stammered. “It can’t be; they’re only legends!” The creature rose to its full heights, rearing up on five massive legs with a pair of long arms and a thin, spindly head with no visible eyes. “It is said they were rock and tree, wind and rain, given form and breath by the elven gods to protect their people.”

“To protect their people?” Finn echoed. “Then why does it look like it’s going to _eat_ you?” The creature crouched, before springing from the tower, landing in front of them and screeching a challenge.

Daylen screamed back at it, sending a massive wave of ice at the creature and sprinting for distance. The others scattered, Cupcake yipping nervously as he narrowly dodged a glob of spittle from the varterral that sizzled as it hit the ground.

Ariane was peppering the creature with arrows as Finn’s lightning bolts crackled across its hide, and Cupcake darted back and forth in front of the varterral, barking loudly and drawing its attention. Daylen surged forward, his spirit blade shearing off one of the beast’s legs as the varterral struck at the hound, narrowly missing it. The varterral screeched, striking blindly with one of its other legs as Daylen instinctively ducked and rolled out of the way, Finn freezing two of the creature’s other legs in place as Cupcake howled, trying to catch its attention. Ariane’s next arrow managed to pierce the varterral’s hide, and it jerked in pain as Ariane shifted her aim, putting another arrow next to the first.

Daylen’s spirit blade cut into another leg, and the varterral lashed out, smacking the Warden-Commander away. His blade extinguished and dropped to the ground, and the man rolled to a stop, groaning in pain. Cupcake bounded forward, standing guard over the mage as he rolled over. Finn and Ariane focused their attacks, Finn’s fireball staggering the varterral as Ariane’s blades severed the leg Daylen had injured. Daylen gasped in pain as he pressed a hand against his shoulder, a large hump protruding. The mage grabbed hold of his hound’s collar, and the dog pulled him to a sitting position before retrieving Daylen’s staff for him. The Warden flooded his body with healing magic, feeling his collarbone shift back into place as the hump disappeared with a violent crunch.

The varterral was badly injured, dragging itself on an uneven number of legs as it tried to strike at Ariane, who threw herself forward and rammed both her blades into the creature’s underbelly. Finn and Daylen froze its remaining legs to the ground, and Ariane twisted her swords free, shattering one of the beast’s limbs and scrambling out of the way as it collapsed to the ground.

“You were supposed to protect us,” Ariane said as Daylen and Finn unleashed streams of ice, paralyzing the varterral. “You failed in your duty, and now you attack those of us trying to preserve what’s left?” Ice crawled up over the beast’s head, cutting off its screech. “I take no pleasure in this.” She rammed both blades through the frozen varterral’s neck, shattering it.

—AOTG—

“We purified the tower with fire as best we could,” Daylen warned as they descended the last set of stairs. “Try not to touch anything that doesn’t look like stone, though.”

“You recognized what I saw,” Finn said as they approached the gap in the wall that led to the cavern Daylen and his Wardens had found the Mother in. “What was there?”

“A broodmother,” Daylen replied. “It’s…a type of darkspawn. The less I explain about it, the fewer nightmares you’ll have. Just know that it can’t hurt you now.”

The Wardens had burned the corpse of the Mother, as well as every egg and scrap of Tainted flesh they could find. But the cavern had ended in a blank wall before. Daylen scowled at the additional space that had been revealed, a thin strip of land leading across an underground lake towards a single island. Ancient, fractured columns reached towards the shadowed ceiling, and a handful of massive statues that depicted armored elves stood half-covered by darkness.

And on the island, there was a large, glowing mirror. “Sweet Maker,” Finn breathed, crowding forward across the narrow path. “An Eluvian. And it’s…glowing? We should-” He paused as Ariane put a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head silently.

Daylen was still walking towards the mirror, staring at the figure prowling in front of it. It had been years since he had seen Morrigan. She looked healthy, wearing the same robes he had last seen her in. She filled them out better than before, the fullness of motherhood showing. She dragged a hand down the mirror, ripples spreading out across the glowing surface. “I think she’s…expecting you,” Ariane said softly.

“Stay here,” Daylen replied.

“Ask her about our book!” Ariane hissed.

Cupcake barked, bounding along the path towards Morrigan and bouncing happily back and forth in front of her. She knelt, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she scratched the dog behind the ears.

She stood as Daylen approached, however, and crossed her arms. “No further, please.” Daylen stopped short, his eyes fixed on her. “One more step and I leave. For good, this time.”

“Hello to you too, Morrigan,” Daylen said softly. “There’s no need to run.”

“You may think so,” she replied, gesturing at the portal. “I assume you know what this is.” Daylen nodded. “I have gone to great lengths to find and activate this portal. Give me reason and I use it, and you will not be able to follow.”

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” Daylen insisted. “But if that’s the case, why haven’t you left?”

Morrigan hesitated. “I remained because I sensed your approach.” Her eyes flicked down to his hand momentarily. “You kept the ring.”

“Of course I kept the ring,” Daylen said.

She frowned. “Tell me, why did you come?”

“A lot of reasons. I never stopped looking for you. I couldn’t let it end like that. And I came…I came looking for you,” Daylen said, fighting the urge to sprint over and hug her. “Not to hurt you or hunt you or anything like that.” His face softened. “Merely to see you again, Morrigan. You know that I'm just here to talk.”

“And if I have no desire to hear what you have to say?”

“Morrigan,” Daylen said softly. “If you didn't want to talk, you wouldn't have stayed. I know you. If you didn't want to talk, we wouldn't be talking.”

“Always the clever one,” she admitted. “What can you hope to gain by coming here now?”

“You mean, besides the woman I love?” Daylen asked.

“I warned you love was a weakness,” Morrigan sighed, but Daylen noted there was none of the venom she had used before in her tone.

“This is weakness?” Daylen asked. “I tracked you across the land and killed a bloody varterral to find you. You call that weakness?” She frowned. “I came looking for answers.”

“Answers,” she replied, giving him that _damned_ smile again. “We all want answers. I will never understand you. And you will never understand me.”

“We helped each other even so,” Daylen pressed. “Loved each other, even so.”

“Yes, I suppose we did,” she said softly.

“And I won’t understand unless you help me to.”

Her face fell. “I…would not even know where to begin explaining.”

Daylen took a step forward. “Morrigan, please. Just…please, talk to me?” She hesitated, clearly wanting to leave, but nodded. “Where is the child?”

“Safe, and beyond your reach,” Morrigan replied cryptically. “All you need to know is that the child is an innocent, and knows nothing of the destiny that awaits.”

Daylen’s jaw dropped. “I…you… _do you think I mean the child harm_?” He shook his head. “That’s not good enough.”

Morrigan nodded sadly.  “Because the child is yours. I understand.”

“No, because you and the child both deserve better!” Daylen shot back. “What is your plan?”

She set her jaw. “I will not share my plan with you. I dare not. If your trust is insufficient, then your anger will have to do. I intend to leave, and prepare the child for what is to come. Such preparation requires time, and power. I must have both if I am to be successful. More than this, I dare not say.” Her next words came out as a whisper. “Even to you.”

“Morrigan…”

She cleared her throat. “But allow me to provide you a warning. ‘Tis Flemeth you should beware of, not me. Hunt her, if you hunt anyone.”

“I’m not here to talk about your mother,” Daylen retorted, feeling slightly silly.[1]

“And yet talk we must.” Morrigan clenched her fist. “I thought I knew what Flemeth planned. I thought what she craved was immortality. And yet I was wrong. So very wrong. She is no blood mage, no abomination…she is not even truly human. The ritual was but a means to an end, a herald for what is to come.”

“What’s going to happen?” Daylen asked.

“Change is coming to the world. Many fear change, and will fight it with every fiber of their being. But sometimes, change is what they need most. Sometimes, change is what sets them free.”

Daylen took another step forward. “And is that what you want? To be free?”

“What I want is…is unimportant now,” she replied, but her eyes were suspiciously damp.

“You sound like you almost believe that,” Daylen said. “It was always important to me.”

She turned towards the mirror, wiping at her face. “I cannot tarry longer. The time has come for me to go.”

Another step closer. “I love you.”

She paused, turning back to him. “Oh, you always did love to complicate things.”

The edges of Daylen's eyes crinkled as he smiled at her behind his beard. “A wise man once said 'when you love someone, you got nothing but trouble. So you have two choices. Either you stop loving them, or you love them a whole lot more.'“ Morrigan's teary glare didn't let up, and Daylen shrugged. “I couldn't stop loving you any more than I could stop breathing.” He grinned, and he held up his hand, his thumb running across the ring. “And you know for sure that I'm not lying. Let me come with you.”[2]

Her jaw dropped. “You cannot know what you ask. T'would be better if you stayed. For you. For us both.”

Daylen took another step forward. He could almost reach out and touch her now. “I want to be with you. No matter what.”

The witch's resolve crumbled, and she let a smile break through. “Then come, my love, and we will face the future together.” He took the last step, pulling her into his arms and feeling the surge of completion he had missed for years. “I love you.” Their lips met, and Daylen cupped her face gently, unable to believe he had finally gotten her back.

“Two small business matters, before we leave,” Daylen interjected, before calling to his companions. “Ariane, Finn? You two going to be able to make it out of here safely?”

“I think we can manage,” Ariane replied. “Everything outside is _dead_ , after all.”

“Good,” Daylen said. “Head to Vigil’s Keep and tell them I sent you.” He looked at Morrigan. “Secondly, love, where is that book you absconded with?”

Morrigan smirked. “Ah, yes. The bundle, by the campfire. Undamaged.” Ariane seized the bundle, digging the book out and letting out a relieved sigh.

“Good luck, Daylen,” Finn called. “I’ll never forget this.”

“Me neither,” Daylen murmured, reaching out to the mirror. Morrigan gave him that mocking smile again as the mirror rippled under his touch, and the two mages and the hound stepped forward together, disappearing in a flash of light.

Silence fell over the cavern, and the mirror went dark. “So,” Finn said after a long moment. “You want some company while you return the book to your clan?”

Ariane gave him a shy smile. “I’d like that.”

—AOTG—

Daylen’s jaw dropped as his vision cleared. “Well, that’s something you don’t see every day.”

If it wasn’t for the tingle of magic in the air, Daylen would have thought that they had emerged on top of a cloud-covered mountain range. But as he peered through the mists surrounding the path they were standing on, he realized that the ground beneath their feet was floating above more mist, with no indication if there was solid ground further below. Shaking off a brief bout of vertigo, he glanced around, seeing other darkened Eluvians around the area. The ground was bare and rocky, and there were trees near the edges of the floating islands, living but devoid of leaves. Cupcake whined nervously, shying closer to Daylen’s side.

“What is this place?” Daylen asked.

“The Crossroads,” Morrigan replied, setting off down the path. “A sort of in-between space. Not the Fade or our world. Something else, somewhere else. I believe the ancient elves created it.” She paused a moment before going on, her voice quiet. “Kieran will be glad to meet you.”

“Kieran?” Daylen's eyes widened and he stopped short. “I have a son?”

“Yes,” Morrigan said. “He is almost two years old.”

Daylen blinked hard, trying to ignore the prickling in his eyes. “Is he…”

“He bears the soul of Urthemiel, yes,” Morrigan replied. “But he is our son.”

“Our son,” Daylen breathed, swallowing hard. “Now there's a phrase I never thought I'd say.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Prior to meeting you, motherhood was not in my plans, either.” The path was leading them towards a wide island, a low hill rising above them.

As they circled the hill, Daylen found a low-slung wooden hut built up against the hillside. “You’ve been living here?” Daylen asked in surprise. “In the Crossroads itself?”

“It is isolated and secure as can be, yet a single trip through an Eluvian to obtain supplies,” Morrigan replied.

“Yet you had to locate and activate an entire separate Eluvian,” Daylen noted.

Morrigan nodded, her face souring. “I was recently…isolated, from the mirror I had been using.”

Daylen’s brows furrowed. “Isolated how?”

“Isolated in that I was pursued by Orlesian Templars and was forced to abandon the previous one,” Morrigan said. “They undoubtedly have either destroyed it or moved it to a guarded location. T’would be foolish to attempt to use it now. I had planned to create a network initially, but the recent setback has made me reconsider.”

“Understandable,” Daylen conceded, watching as Morrigan deactivated a series of defensive wards surrounding the hut. He followed her inside, finding a single cot near a cooking fireplace and a crib.

There was a bundle, a child – _his_ child, Daylen thought – in the crib, next to a tiny griffon that had been hewn out of wood. After a moment, Daylen recognized the toy as the griffon he had been carving during the Blight that had disappeared the last night at Redcliffe.

Daylen fought the burning in his eyes as he looked his son in the face for the first time. “Hello, there,” he whispered. “Nice to meet you, little one.” He brushed back the shock of brown hair – the same color as his own, he noted. “He has your nose,” Daylen said.

“And your eyes,” Morrigan replied quietly. “It...has not been easy, at times, to look at him and not see you.”

“Morrigan…” Daylen forced himself to turn away from the child. “Why? Why leave?”

The mage’s face fell. “I...I was unsure of what you or others would do with a child who bore the soul of an Old God. I was afraid. Of both you and my mother.”

Daylen stared at her. “I would die for this child. Without hesitation. I could no sooner raise a hand to harm Kieran than I could to harm you.” Morrigan wrapped her arms around herself, and Daylen looked into the crib again, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. “He’s…perfect.” He paused. “Perhaps I should not have come.”

“Why?”

“Because I am going to spoil this child utterly rotten,” Daylen declared, and Morrigan laughed. Cupcake sniffed at the crib, before nosing at Daylen’s hand and snuffling. “Yes, he’s mine,” Daylen replied, curling an arm around Morrigan’s waist. “Ours, really.” The dog  _whuffed_  happily, putting a paw on the edge of the crib protectively, acknowledging that the pack had grown. “Good boy.” Daylen looked at the mother of his child – _his child_ , he thought. “Your mother. She's definitely still alive, then?”

“I have no doubt that she still lives,” Morrigan said. “I have no doubt she will look for me. ‘Tis only a matter of time before she finds us.”

Daylen crossed the room in three steps, taking her hands in his own. “Morrigan, I promised you that you would always be safe with me. I meant it. As long as I live, neither you nor Kieran will ever come to harm.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I almost pity anything that makes the attempt. After all, between the Witch of the Wilds and the Hero of Ferelden…” She looked away, faking disdain but clearly fighting a smile. Daylen pulled her hands to his chest. “Morrigan, you once claimed love is a weakness.”

“I was wrong,” she mumbled.

“And I know how much it took for you to admit that,” Daylen said. “It's not a weakness. My love for you kept me going these past two years. I've seen things you wouldn't believe. I saw them and I still don't quite believe it. And in two years, seven months, and twenty-two days, not a day went by that I didn't think of you.”

She tapped the ring that hadn't left his finger more than once in two years. “I know.”

“Let me use that strength again. Let me help you, love.”

“You know not where this journey may lead us,” she whispered. “How can you offer help so plainly?”

Daylen shrugged. “Because I love you. I think that should be fairly obvious.” Morrigan's eyes narrowed, and Daylen grinned. “As long as you're there, the rest is details.” She smiled openly for the first time since they had stepped through the mirror, her eyes suspiciously wet. One of her hands slipped from his and curled into his hair, pulling him into a kiss. The world seemed to stop as their lips met, and for the first time in years Daylen felt as if everything was going to be all right. “I'll take that as a yes,” he murmured as she broke the kiss. She nodded, and he pressed his lips to her forehead.

Then he froze.

“What's wrong?”

“There is a large magical presence coming this way,” Daylen said. “Not darkspawn. Not your mother, I don't think. Demons, I would guess.”

“They seem to be attracted by Kieran's power,” Morrigan explained. “They reach this place somewhat easier than our world.”

Daylen closed his eyes a moment, and mana began to flow off his body, his skin hardening, layered shields flaring to life over his body and a fainter set of shields blossoming around Morrigan and the baby. Cupcake growled. “They will regret that. Briefly.”

The front of the hut exploded inwards, and Daylen thrust out both hands, the flying debris halting in midair and reversing its path. Shards of wood shredded a pair of rage demons, and Daylen ended a third with a conjured lump of stone through the face.

“Get behind me,” Daylen growled.

“I am not some helpless waif that requires protection,” Morrigan snapped, her own sustained spells flaring to life. Cupcake moved to stand between the wrecked front of the hut and the crib that contained his partner’s pup.

“I know that,” Daylen replied. “But I'm better at close-in work. Now get Kieran and  _get behind me_.” There was a thread of steel in his voice, and Morrigan pulled her child close, moving behind the Warden-Commander.

Morrigan considered herself a capable mage. She had been raised by an abomination of legend, and had never had much trouble dealing with Templars or other threats in the Wilds. She had distinguished herself fighting during a Blight alongside two Grey Wardens and several expert combatants. She had made her way on her own for over two years, almost half of which was spent either pregnant or recovering from the pregnancy. Twice, Templars had caught wind of her abilities and had attempted to arrest or execute her as an apostate. They had paid dearly for their overconfidence.

But watching Daylen wield raw elemental power and blasts of pure force as if they were a child's playthings could give anyone inadequacy issues.

A Rage demon simply dissipated as Daylen hit it with a crushing burst of ice magic, the raw fire that made up the demon's form canceling out against the sheer cold. A group of Desire demons screamed as Daylen slammed them into the ground with force magic and impaled them on a stream of icy spikes, and a Pride demon's charge slowed to a crawl as a spell took effect on it, several fireballs raining down on it from Daylen’s hands.

“Cast a Tempest,” Daylen ordered, striding forward and offhandedly blasting a Hunger demon in the face with a torrent of lightning. A pair of Terror demons lunged forward, and Daylen put a spear of eldritch energy through one's skull, before punching the other in the face, a blast of raw force emanating from his fist and knocking it flat on its back. Daylen curled a hand around his mouth, blowing a gout of high-intensity flame out and setting the demon alight. The beast thrashed, and Daylen stomped on the demon's skull until it stopped squealing.

Lightning arced between Morrigan's hands as she wove the magic into the desired shape, before she dropped it directly on the Pride demon. Daylen stood beyond the edge of the mess, raw mana boiling off his body. Ice crystals began to form in the air around him, and Daylen thrust his hands forward, dropping a magnified blizzard on top of the electrical storm Morrigan had cast. The spells combined, and Daylen walked through the resulting storm, his numerous defensive spells leaving him untouched by the lightning or ice.

“You have  _no idea_  how badly you've fucked up,” Daylen snarled at the Pride demon. “Morrigan, can you thicken the Veil here?”

“Trying,” Morrigan called, pumping magic into the air. She felt the tears in the Veil and began pulling, trying to close the seams.

“Good,” Daylen hissed, dropping a petrification spell on the Pride demon. Drawing his spirit blade, Daylen swung with both hands, shattering the creature's arm. Demonic ichor sprayed across the ruined hut, and as the storm dissipated Morrigan's arms came down. Daylen could feel the Veil come together and seal as her magic took effect, and she followed up with a heavy bolt of lightning, electricity crackling across the Pride demon's body and arcing between its limbs. Daylen ducked as the spell wore off, his spirit blade coming down again and lopping the demon's other hand off at the wrist. The Pride demon roared, and Morrigan snarled, letting another blast of lightning loose as Daylen charged up another force blast. The spell knocked the demon off its feet, and Daylen set the beast alight with a fireball. Spinning his spirit blade in his hand, the Warden-Commander drove the tip of the blade into the Pride demon's skull, just under the chin. The demon thrashed, but fell still as Daylen twisted the blade.

Letting the blade dissipate, the mage hung the hilt from his belt. “You hurt?” He asked.

“Of course not,” Morrigan replied, checking her son over. “Kieran is unhurt as well.”

“Good,” Daylen murmured, looking around the wrecked building. “We may have to find new lodgings.”

“Undoubtedly,” Morrigan agreed. “This does bear some signs of your presence.” She looked at Daylen as he stepped next to her, watching as he smiled at her child – _their_ child, she corrected herself. “My love...what does the future hold, for us?”

“This world is a mess,” Daylen said quietly. “If we look at the way it's going? I mean, we had Cailan, a man more focused on the glorious story that would result from winning a battle than winning the actual battle, and then there's Alistair, who's still got the Calling hanging over his head and has about as half as much country as he really should have, thanks to the Blight. Maybe next week we'll wake up and all of Thedas will be a smoking ruin. Maybe it'll be a wonderful world. We don't know. We can't know.” He looked to Morrigan, extending his other hand even as his son's fingers curled around one of his own. “But as long as you're there…I think it's worth it. You take my hand, we'll tell some jokes, do what we have to, have some fun along the way.” Her hand settled into his, and he gave her the same smile that he knew had won her heart years ago. “You scared?”

“Never, with you at my side,” she replied warmly, squeezing his hand.

“Good,” Daylen continued. “Because I think the safest place for us may be Vigil’s Keep or Soldier’s Peak. We would face mortal dangers there, but we would be safe from demons drawn to Kieran’s power.” Morrigan hesitated. “We would have solid fortifications, the Wardens, and possibly the guards at Vigil’s Keep protecting us.”

Morrigan paused. “I see. You may have a point.”

Daylen gasped. “You? Conceding a point? What has happened to you over the last two years?”

She scowled at him. “Motherhood. But do not assume I have let my abilities atrophy. Your own skills have improved somewhat.”

“I picked up some techniques on Force Magic from the Free Marches Wardens,” Daylen explained. “And some battlemage techniques I learned in Amaranthine.” He looked to Morrigan. “If I had been this strong at Ostagar, had I had some lyrium with me, I probably could have turned the tide of the battle alone. And that's not even counting the other magic I've learned. Dalish Keeper techniques, some basic Necromancy techniques from a Tevinter mage, and most recently, this particular branch of magic from Orlais. Seems related to the Arcane Warrior magic I already use.”

“You  _are_  planning on sharing this knowledge,” Morrigan said hopefully.

“Of course,” Daylen scoffed. “Well, maybe.” He winked at her. “If I had the proper incentive.”

A predatory smile spread across her face, and Morrigan leaned in, breathing in his ear. “Shall I use my womanly wiles to entice the information out of you?”

“Oh, please do.” Daylen had given up on fighting the grin he had been holding back since the moment he and Morrigan had touched again. “By the way, I haven't had the opportunity to mention this yet, but you look absolutely gorgeous.” He eyed her blatantly, and she preened, clearly enjoying the attention. “Motherhood suits you.”

She gave him that smile again. “You enjoy my appearance, then?”

“Well yes, but I have two questions,” Daylen said.

“Ask, and I may even answer,” she giggled.

“First question is what happened to all that jewelry I gave you? Really, one can only improve on all of this,” he waved a hand at her, “so much, but one might as well try.”

“Much of it was left behind when I departed after the Battle of Denerim, or sold to finance my movements across Thedas,” she said softly.

“Well then, I simply must find you more,” Daylen mumbled into her neck, holding her tight against him.

“What was the second question?”

“Which part of you would you like me to start worshipping first?”

She giggled as he nuzzled her neck. “As…entertaining as that would be, I think that the sooner we depart, the better.”

“Too right,” Daylen said. “Has Kieran been…er…fed? Is he on solid food yet?” He smiled sheepishly. “They didn’t exactly include classes on child-rearing in the Circle or the Wardens.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes, shifting her top aside and exposing herself. Daylen’s eyes immediately dropped, and she chuckled as she reached into the crib. “I see distracting you remains as easy as it once was.” She pulled the burbling child to her breast, and the babe immediately latched on.

It took only a few minutes to pack – while Morrigan fed, burped, and changed Kieran before bundling him into a swaddling pack, Daylen packed the handful of magical texts, toys, and odds and ends that Morrigan had acquired into a rucksack. Morrigan snugged a knitted cap down over Kieran’s head, and the boy giggled, before blowing a raspberry at his mother as she smiled fondly at him.

“You take up knitting?” Daylen asked, slinging the rucksack over his shoulder and grabbing his staff.

Morrigan scoffed as they left the wrecked hut, heading for the Eluvian they had come through. “No, but not for lack of trying. The cap came from a midwife who assisted in the birth. I was in Orlais when the time came, near Serault. It was fortunate that I found myself in sympathetic company, and the village had a skilled midwife who educated me on how to care for a child.”

“Kieran seems well cared-for,” Daylen commented. “You must have learned well.”

“I will do right by this child,” Morrigan declared. “When I came to you that night, I…I intended to use him for my own gain, I admit that. But when I looked into his eyes, when I held him in my arms, something…something changed. In me.”

—AOTG—

The Eluvian flared, and the quartet emerged into the cavern beneath the Dragonbone Wastes. Daylen whistled, and Cupcake took the lead, sniffing ahead for any threats as Daylen followed closely. Morrigan brought up the rear, her staff at the ready as Daylen layered wards on around her and Kieran. The witch rolled her eyes as she noticed the haze in the air from Daylen’s magic. “Your concern is appreciated, but is this not excessive?”

“Hardly,” Daylen said dryly. “We killed a varterral up there. Who knows what else is running around?”

Surprisingly enough, there was nothing hostile aboveground, and Daylen paused as they emerged from the tower, looking to the east. “Is something wrong?” Morrigan asked as she came up behind him.

Daylen shook his head. “No, just…I’ve been out of the Circle for three, almost four years now. And the sunrise is still so beautiful.”

Morrigan’s free hand slid into his, and Daylen glanced down as she gave him a warm smile. “Come, my love. There is work to do.”

—AOTG—

The wagon driver coughed politely, and Daylen tore his eyes away from Kieran. “We’re almost there, Commander.”

“Good,” Daylen said. “I appreciate your going out of your way.”

The man scowled. “I told yeh, I won’t hear none of that. Yer Wardens saved me an’ me wife, kept us safe at the Keep. I ain’t the type to forget that.”

Daylen shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Nathaniel met them in the courtyard, dressed in a casual tunic and ink on his hands. “Welcome back, Commander. I take it you were successful?”

“Beyond belief,” Daylen said softly. “Any developments?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Finn and Ariane arrived late last night, but they departed hours ago, heading south. They asked me to extend their deepest thanks to you.”

“They’re good people,” Daylen replied. “Nate, this is Morrigan, and the little one is Kieran. Morrigan, this is Nathaniel Howe.”

Surprise flickered in Morrigan’s eyes, before a smirk spread across her lips. “Another Howe? My, you do attract the strangest company.”

Daylen snickered. “You think _that’s_ strange, you should see who else is in the Wardens.”

“Well, if it ain’t the hot witch!” Oghren crowed.

Morrigan’s smile faded. “You recruited _him_?”

“Ha! I volunteered,” Oghren said. “This your nugget?” Nathaniel’s eyes widened.

“Yes,” Daylen said, realizing the cat was at least halfway out of the bag. “Nathaniel, Kieran is my son. I would rather we kept that as quiet as possible, however.”

—AOTG—

“So these are my quarters,” Daylen said rather unnecessarily as they entered his room.

“Rather bare, considering the resources you have at your disposal,” Morrigan noted.

Daylen shrugged. “It felt wrong to decorate when there were other uses for the money. Besides, I…really have no idea how to decorate. I was living in a dormitory at the Circle, never had my own room, and then I was on the road for a year. Once I actually got my own space, I didn’t really know what to do with it.” Kieran clambered up onto the chair by the fire and immediately fell asleep, Cupcake snuffling as he stretched out on the thick bearskin by the fire. Daylen gave Morrigan an impish smile. “The bed’s nice enough, though.”

“A Witch of the Wilds, the Commander of the Grey, raising a child with the soul of a Tevinter Old God…” Morrigan shook her head. “'Tis most strange.”

Daylen smiled. “Love, we're mages. ‘Strange’ is part of the job.”

—AOTG—

_Nug_  
“Hip deep in mad nugs.  
Our screams deafen their keen ears.  
We will be nug poop.”

_\--From Songs That Only Nugs can Hear by Paragon Ebryan, 5:84 Exalted_

_The nug is an omnivore common to the Deep Roads, a hairless creature that is almost blind as well as completely docile. It spends most of its time wading in shallow pools as well as mud pits, feeding on small insects, worms, and (in a pinch) limestone and simple metals. Indeed, the digestive system of the nug is legendary, able to make a meal out of almost anything a nug finds on the cavern floors. Nugs reproduce rapidly, spreading into any niche within the Deep Roads they can find, and serve to support a variety of predators such as giant spiders and deepstalkers. So, too, do dwarves make meals out of them... nugs are, in the poorer slum portions of Orzammar, one of the most common sources of meat available. Some dwarves even domesticate the creatures, claiming to find the creature's high-pitched squeaks pleasing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> 1All this way to argue over the in-laws. [ return to text ]
> 
> 2MASH. [ return to text ]


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